


Third One's the Charm

by mellyb6



Series: And Then There Were Four [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: And love, Birthdays, Champagne, Dancing, Dates, Death, Defending Your Boyfriend, Disneyland, Family, Flavored Lube, Food Sex, Holidays, I can't believe I forgot to tag threesome from the start, Ice Cream, Mati, Modern AU, Multi, Noisy friends, Orphans, Poly Relationship, Strawberries and Whipped Cream, There will be sex, They're hot when they fight the world, Threesome - F/M/M, and adorable and cute kids, and laughter, because this is my calling, building relationships, discovering feelings, graveyard, kind of, kisses and hugs, noisy parents, strengthening relationships, tantrums, weekends in the country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 157,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos, Aramis and Anne explore their new feelings and build their new relationship. All the while still handling the wonderful child that is Mati. </p><p>Sequel to <i> Weekly Doses <i>.</i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This new story picks up only five days after the last chapter of the previous one.

From the way he is acting, you would think that Mati was the one who had the energy drink back at the gym. Apparently, the orange juice, the chocolate and the simple fact to be able to spend his Wednesday afternoon with his father and Porthos were enough to make him hyper. The gym is after all, his favorite place _in the world_ , he's declared to his father earlier in the day when Aramis suggested they spent a few hours over there. But then again, only two weeks beforehand, the little boy's favorite spot in town was the large park close to Tréville's house where he could play football, use the swings and feed the ducks in the pond. So who knows how long the gym will retain this title?

 

Favorite place or not, it's energized Mati as if he was the one who also worked out. He's bouncing in Aramis' arms, a bit too big for his father to carry him around, especially after how much he exercized. His arms are stiff and hurt even for the mere minute it takes his son to type the numbers to open the door to their building. Mati was insistent that he was the one to do it, it made him feel important, if all the shouting and shrills he gave on their short walk was any indication.

 

Aramis groans as his son demands to be put down so he can also be the one who opens the front door after he's entered the correct code. Except that they are too heavy for his little hands. How ever strongly he is clutching them. It doesn't deter him.

 

“Papá, help!”

 

Porthos is the one who comes to the rescue, laughing, while Aramis groans at all the energy pouring out of the tiny body jumping by his side. He might have been the one drowning the energy drink, he cannot feel any of its supposedly effects. He feels more drained, if that's even possible.

 

“Papá's a bit weak after his work-out,” Porthos jokes, throws a cheeky grin at his boyfriend, and opens the door wide for them to step inside. Aramis scowls, but cannot contradict him. It's been too long since he's lifted weight or done bench work.

 

“Your arms are going to get big!” Mati exaggerates, nevertheless impressed to have observed his father back in the fitness room, even if he could only do so through the glass doors. He's so strong, in his son's eyes, so talented to be able to do such a thing without being hurt.

 

“They will!” Porthos adds, surveys Aramis out of the corner of his eye. How he balances his bag and how he winces at the move. It'll come back to him, only the first times hurt that much. Besides, Porthos also aches whenever he does too much too soon, which is why he's at least thankful he was the one helping Aramis. That way, it was easy to stop him from wanting to lift more than he was capable of. “Perhaps they'll get as big as mine.”

 

“No. You're the strongest, Porfos!”

 

“Why, thank you. And you're definitely the smartest.” He tousles the blond curls as he says so, lets the carefree giggles which follow fill his heart. His eyes sparkle at how Mati grins at him, craning his head and stumbling a little as he gets a good look at his stepfather.

 

“I thought _I_ was the strongest,” Aramis pouts from behind them, in a dramatic way. Mati shakes his head, comes by his side to grab his hand and pull him along.

 

“You're Papá!”

 

“Which means?” But his lack of movement whatsoever seems to have irritated the boy who relinquishes his hold, breaks free and makes a dash for it towards the elevator.

 

When he rounds the corner and is out of sight, Porthos steps closer to his boyfriend, forces him to somehow let go of the gym bag. Aramis does so willingly, more than glad that the bulk of it is gone from his back.

 

“It probably means that you're the best, 'mis. And you are getting very strong. Even more than you were already.”

 

Aramis delights at the praise, at how soft Porthos' tone is, at how the bag is dropped to the floor. And then he squeals, low in his throat, before the sound is replaced by laughter. He's backed against the wall, his hands trapped in one of Porthos', the other's face hovering so close Aramis can feel each sugary breath blown on his cheeks.

 

“What is that for?” he has to ask, rejoicing in the massive body pressed against his. A familiar intimacy that Aramis always craves even after two years spent together. How safe Porthos makes him feel, how sure of what his feelings are for him. How caring his every gesture is.

 

What a relief it is to realize that after last week's debacle, after their misunderstanding with Anne and why she kissed Porthos, what a relief it is to see that they haven't lost any of their complicity. That Aramis' breath will always catch at knowing he's going to be kissed, that he's going to be loved. That he may try to become stronger physically doing sports he hasn't done in years, they're always stronger together. Emotionally perhaps, discovering and trying to understand everything that was left unsaid before.

 

That they are determined to remain the couple they've always been, open, honest, complicated but blessed in the knowledge that they may not be perfect, they are right for the other. But also resolved to improve it, to improve their life as a family and as men, to improve it with Anne, in whatever way they'll decide. This is still something which is more than obscure to the both of them, to the three of them, and yet in that moment pressed up between a wall and his boyfriend, Aramis doesn't fear it.

 

He stopped fearing it last Friday when they managed to talk about it. Because he wasn't going to lose anyone and this was enough to satisfy him. Five days later and he hasn't changed his mind. Not when he can gaze at mischievous eyes and rub his cheek against a bushy beard that Aramis enjoys so deeply he's practically forbidden Porthos from shaving it.

 

“You've no idea how hard it was not attacking you back there,” Porthos eventually answers. A hasty whisper brushes his boyfriend's lips. He's no idea when they'll be interrupted again. Aramis melts a little around the kiss, short but heated. Lips sliding together and Porthos' hand gripping his waist.

 

“All that sweat and really, how you grunt....,” he adds on, swallows Aramis' little chuckle at this. He's noticed what it did to the other, might have exaggerated a bit only for the sake of seeing Porthos' eyes widen and his jaw clench in concentration.

 

“I'll find a way for you to forgive me tonight,” Aramis promises, his mouth hot on his boyfriend's neck, nibbling on the skin. Porthos nods, lips partly open. He wants that very much. He's been wanting it since the whole drama of the previous week. Somehow, sharing kisses and touching were proof enough of their love and dedication for a short while. The sight of his boyfriend so set up on working-out has changed his mind.

 

“Papá, Porfos! Elevator! Ewwww.” Mati's interruption is followed as always by the disgusting noise he's been making every time he's caught them kissing for the past weeks. It's new and it may have bothered his father until he noticed the face the boy also made once he saw two teenagers kissing on the subway. So it's not simply when Porthos and him are being affectionate and after all, Mati is at that age. Most of the time now, the boyfriends make faces back until the child laughs and all is well.

 

“Mail first, Mati,” Aramis reminds him once Porthos has let go of him, still refusing to let him carry the bag.

 

“Keys!”

 

“Keys, Papá, please,” Aramis corrects.

 

“Keys, Papá.....please.”

 

Satisfied, Aramis hands them to the child, watches him scamper to the mailboxes. And then Mati waits there, waits for one of them to lift him so he can reach theirs. Porthos laughs again, gathers the boy in his arms because it's obvious Aramis doesn't want to do it again. Frankly, Porthos loves it. He loves the nice surprise that was Aramis coming to the gym on a Wednesday afternoon. He loves how Mati loves the place, how he trails behind them. How he loves both of the men so much that he doesn't question any of their interaction together.

 

Porthos loves that he loves them both, father and son. It's stopped making his heart stutter for quite some time now, and yet he'll never stop wondering what he must have done to find and deserve them. To have his life feel so complete and exceptional because of their presence in it.

 

None of them can see what the letter is, as Mati happily jumps back down, still on his way to the much awaited elevator ride. He's urging them on, Aramis shaking his head. He's actually surprised he's only now starting to have a headache.

 

“I love him,” Porthos assures him. “But I cannot wait for him to be asleep.”

 

Aramis turns sharply on his heels, ignores the pain in his shoulder as he does so. Perhaps he should have stretched more. Perhaps Porthos was correct and he should have stopped the first time he told him to. Porthos was most definitely right.

 

But this is irrelevant when Aramis lifts one hand to pat the other's arm softly. He's incredibly lucky he's found such a wonderful man and that he hasn't lost him like he feared last Thursday. Aramis wouldn't have believed that their fight and what had caused it could make him cherish Porthos more. For his actions or for his words. He was obviously wrong.

 

“Congratulations, Porthos. You're officially a parent.”

 

It comes unexpectedly, it's surprising enough for Porthos to pause and consider it. He'll get used to it, just like he got used to the child existing in the first place and how he got used to living with him. He can see pride flooding out of Aramis as he says the words, truer than they've ever been before. Porthos is aware he's doing a good job. Aramis and Anne are always telling him so. Tréville is as well, everytime they are all together. It settles Porthos' mind that he won't screw up Mati's childhood like his own was. That he will hopefully help the boy's parents bring him up well.

 

The hand on his arm travels down to his fingers to give them a quick squeeze, Aramis' kind smile and eyes looking only at Porthos and how awestruck he seems. So much that his boyfriend can't help but lean and drop a kiss to his cheek. Aramis hears the quiet sigh of relief and happiness underneath his skin. Porthos grips the fingers tightly, doesn't let them go once a new and louder shout informs them that the elevator is indeed finally here and they have to hurry up.

 

This is domestic, this is normal in spite of it all, and Porthos can only bask in it. Mati is exhuberant in his glee, unwilling to give the mail back to his father when they are finally inside their appartment and that he's been asked to lower the volume of his voice.

 

“Is the letter for you?” Aramis insists, watching Mati closely studying the words written on the enveloppe.

 

“......No.”

 

“Who is it for? Porthos or me?”

 

Mati takes his time, focuses carefully on each letter. He's only started to recognize some very common words they encounter in the multiple stories they read, or that he's being taught at school. He does know his parents' names, though, and Aramis has no doubt that for the amount of times the boy has asked for a template of Porthos' name for his drawings, Mati can decipher this one as well.

 

“......Porfos.”

 

“Good. Can you hand it to him, then?”

 

Dutifully, Mati does so, beams at the compliment for having delivered it to its rightful recipient.

 

“Can I have grenadine syrup?” he asks, following Aramis to the kitchen.

 

“We're having dinner in a few. It'll spoil your appetite.”

 

“But, Papá....”

 

“You can have some during dinner if you still want it. Not now.”

 

“But, Papá.....”

 

“You know what?” Aramis suddenly says, diverting the subject and crouching to be at his son's eye-level. “I just remembered what we agreed on before going to the gym. Do you remember what we said?”

 

Mati fidgets on his spot, silent all of a sudden. A sharp contrast from his attitude for the past hours.

 

“We said that if we went to the gym earlier than planned, then you would tidy your room after we came back. Isn't that now?”

 

“But, Papá....”

 

“We shook hands on it, didn't we?”

 

This, Mati remembers quite well, just like the rest. He felt so important to be able to do such a grown-up gesture with his father. He would have probably done it over anything that was asked of him, if it meant being able to shake hands. Although this particular request was long overdue and Aramis would have forced him to do it no matter what.

 

“Yes, but I don't like doing that,” Mati mumbles.

 

“No one does. But a deal's a deal. We had some fun and now we must work. I cook, you tidy your bedroom and then I'll clean it. So you can sleep even better tonight. Go on, now.”

 

Aramis ushers a sulking Mati out of the kitchen, watching him drag his feet all the way to his room. He waits until he hears some hint that work is actually being done over there to resume his current task.

 

“Do you want some water, Porthos? Or beer?” Aramis adds when his first question hasn't been answered. When the second suggestion is ignored as well, he does pop his head in the living room to find out why it was.

 

Porthos has his back to him, standing at one of the windows. It's April and the nights are quickly becoming longer and longer. The sun is still shining in the sky but the brightness of the afternoon which had warmed the air is gone, replaced by the intense orange glow bathing the top of buildings. It cascades around Porthos' still form. Not even his head is moving. It's as if he isn't even breathing.

 

Which he thankfully is, Aramis discovers after he's stepped closer to his boyfriend. The open enveloppe is on the table, a few papers still inside. Porthos is gripping one sheet with mighty strength, crumpling it a little. His eyes are resolutely set on what he can read. His mind, too, because he seems not to hear Aramis inquiring if all is well, how ever close they are standing.

 

“Porthos?” This time, it does make him start, his name along with the hand splayed on the small of his back. His stare is dark and almost frightening when it settles on Aramis who nonetheless doesn't withdraw. Porthos grits his teeth, his fingers shaking around the expensive paper. He doesn't quite know what he should feel.

 

“He's dead,” he simply states. Because it's the truth, and the truth reassures him. It's easier than to dwell on the whirlwind of his feelings.

 

“Who is?”

 

“My f....Belgard. Here.” He practically shoves the letter at Aramis, relieved not to have the burning words in his hands. Instead, he drags a chair on the floor, ignores the dreadful sound it makes against the wooden floorboards, and sits heavily in it.

 

His body is slightly shaking even from this position. Porthos doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore, can't help his legs bouncing under the table. The death dates back from two weeks, Aramis realizes, but he knew Porthos had wanted it so. He hadn't wanted to know it right away. He had refused to give his actual address to his biological father. The letter Aramis flattens on the table comes from the lawyer's office.

 

It was easier this way, to avoid unrequited calls or mail. To not feel obligated to attend the funeral. Porthos was positive he didn't want to, and yet being aware of it, of its date and time, it might have made him feel guilty and compelled to go. He would have never believed he would feel that way for a man who had abandoned him his entire life. A man Porthos is positive he hates. The only person in the entire world he may actually despise that much.

 

On the other hand, Porthos also remembers how frail Belgard had been when they visited him in December. No matter how resolute he was to hold on to this hatred, Porthos couldn't help but feel sorry for the old man. He had disliked the emotion, because his biological father never deserved it. Healthy or ill.

 

It's still a shock to read about the news, to learn about it in such a cold way. Mere words from someone Porthos is paying to handle his business. A few lines written only to explain what is also enclosed in the enveloppe. Information about a will which makes everything so earthly and so material. Money and possessions Porthos never really cared for. Problems that he doesn't want to be included in. He's not part of _this_ family, he's been quite adamant about that.

 

The date is staring back at him, silent and dark. Rough numbers and a month and somehow, it's the end of something. A life Porthos was never a part of, except for a tiny ridiculous moment. A moment so carelessly forgotten that it might not have mattered that much to Belgard anyway. Which is exactly why Porthos shouldn't feel sad. The man is not worthy of his sadness. And Porthos isn't. Not for him.

 

If anything, he should be angry, like he's always been. Except that he isn't either. He cannot find any reason to be anymore. Perhaps he'll find more once he reads the rest of the papers, and that will give him something useful to do, to curse and shout at how his biological father couldn't and wouldn't listen to what Porthos wanted. But for the moment, he can't feel anger either. Or loss. Or pain. He doesn't even feel empty. He hasn't lost anyone close to him. Nobody important. Or meaningful. He was determined that his life would go on regardless of Belgard. He's done wasting his time for someone like him.

 

Now that he is truly gone, though, forever and never coming back to shake Porthos and make him insecure, or to hurt him, Porthos is a bit lost. Perplexed by the lack of reaction he can muster at the news. Learning about the death of great actors or writers might even move him more than this particular one. And for this, for a second, he does feel guilty.

 

Aramis waits by his side, his chair as close as it can be, one hand still busy with the crumpled piece of paper, simply for something to do, the other on Porthos' thigh. Present and warm. But otherwise silent. As silent as it can be with toys which must be tossed around in Mati's bedroom, if the noises are indication enough. Aramis doesn't say anything, though, because he doesn't know what he should say. It's one thing to be aware of how complicated and heart-wrenching Porthos' relationship with his biological father was when he was alive, it's a completely different one to imagine how he'll react in the wake of his death.

 

“He's dead,” Porthos repeats, his voice even, emotionless. “I....always knew it was going to happen and now....it has and I don't.....feel anything.”

 

He frowns as he says so. The words sound hollow and terribly accusing in the quiet of the appartment. Aramis wouldn't never judge him, wants him to feel whatever seems right in this moment. It's already quite a contrast from how Porthos reacted when he received the letter from Belgard in the fall. It's better today. No tears. Yet.

 

“Do you want to be alone for a while?”

 

“By all means, no. Stay.” Porthos shakes his head furiously, frowning more but not in anger. Not in puzzlement. He clutches Aramis' hand in his own, wills him to remain right where he is, with his warmth and his soft voice and his love. What a terrible thing it would be to be by himself with this news. Peculiar and unaffecting as far as his entire life is concerned. It will not change a thing. If anything, Porthos will perhaps breathe a little easier from now on.

 

Eventually, Aramis ends up sitting on his boyfriend's lap, arms strong around his neck. He doesn't care if they hurt, Porthos needs them. He needs the closeness and affection, he needs to know Aramis is here by his side. Here to stay and not only tonight. That it doesn't matter if Porthos is confused about what to feel or if Aramis cannot help him make sense of what is in his heart right now. He's here.

 

So are the firm hands Porthos puts on his boyfriend's back to hold him flush to his chest, to breathe in the scent that is so much Aramis that it would be overwhelming. To be surrounded by it, to have it heal any doubt and worry Porthos has been having. Nothing else is important but the kisses and whispers in Porthos' ear. Sweet nothings that he forgets the second they are uttered. Short praises and reassurances which, though they aren't demanded, are definitely helping soothe whatever ache was in Porthos' mind and he wasn't aware of.

 

Aramis and his kind voice, all of his experience as a father comforting a frightened son coming to the fore. It's not the first time Porthos has noticed it. It's been used on him times and times again, whenever he was confused or feeling down. This caring side of his boyfriend that is so often hidden by Aramis' playful side, by his jokes and his joy. But which becomes the only thing you can see once he's grown attached to you. It pours out of him steadily, waves of love washing over Porthos, over their family or their friends. Such a beautiful sight to behold that Porthos has to hug him tighter, has to love him all the more. His fantastic boyfriend.

 

“At least you're relieved you didn't have to rack your brain over whether you had to go to the funeral. Am I right?”

 

Porthos nods quietly, his head buried in the crook of Aramis' neck. It's hot and safe there. Hands grip the back of Aramis' tee-shirt. The breathing against its material is still even, no sign that Porthos will lose his temper anytime soon. Aramis gives him one long kiss when his boyfriend finally raises his head again.

 

Hands travel up to Aramis' hair to cling to it, to push his face forward so that their lips can crash together fully. Aramis squeaks in surprise at the force behind the gesture, then relishes in how intense the kiss is. When they are done, he still doesn't move from Porthos' lap, eager to enjoy it, to give his boyfriend whatever he is seeking, even though Porhos is clueless about that, too. He needs Aramis. That's all. He's more grateful than ever that they haven't lost one another. That they are learning to live with their new discoveries without those encroaching upon their couple.

 

“Papá, I'm done!” comes from the depths of Mati's bedroom. One glance at the clock tells Aramis that enough time has passed to expect more than all the toys having been shoved under the bed. He is in no mood to argue with his son tonight. Now less than he was before Porthos shared his gloomy, if it is, news.

 

“I'll make it quick,” Aramis swears, after one last kiss to Porthos' lips and before standing up. Porthos does feel the emptiness this time around. He waves his boyfriend off.

 

“Take your time. I have all of this to read.” Porthos motions to the fat envelope. He isn't looking forward to knowing more. It's a tiresome task, yet one which will take him one step closer to really be done with this part of his past.

 

“I love you. Thank you,” he adds, and Aramis has to turn around because seeing how lost in his thoughts Porthos was at the idea of opening the enveloppe further, he had deemed it wiser to leave his boyfriend alone for now. The declarations make him come back, bend down and kiss Porthos once more. There's a sigh against Aramis' lips when he says _I love you_ back. Porthos is smiling faintly when the other pulls away.

 

There is another shout for Aramis to come admire the fine work his son has accomplished, the one concerned mumbling a stream of _yes, yes, yes_ to please Mati. And then a reminder that he has been asked to refrain from shouting inside already. And then awed sounds at how tidy the bedroom is and look, you can actually see your rug, isn't that amazing? All of this familiar and quite recurring dialogue in their home puts Porthos at ease to reach forward and be done with what his lawyer has sent.

 

It's a relief to see that his wishes were granted, that Belgard hasn't left him anything. No money, no houses, no land. Nothing that he could claim for himself, which he didn't want. There's money for orphanages, quite a large amount of it. No property whatsoever. They must have been bestowed upon Belgard's daughter. A woman Porthos has no interest in meeting. With a tremor in his heart, Porthos realizes there is money specifically left for the orphanage where he spent so many years of his life. Money for more fundations within Paris. So much to help so many people.

 

Porthos feels nothing but happiness at the thought, an emotion he wouldn't have associated with the evening only minutes earlier. But he is and it comforts him. He loves happiness, he lives for happiness. It's startling to know his biological father is the source of it. For once, he's done something that Porthos can be proud of, that he can talk about without having to punch a wall. It's a peculiar change in his feelings.

 

It grows at knowing he will only have to make an appointment with his lawyer to settle everything, that he will never have to meet Belgard's or anyone related to him ever again. That soon, it can all be behind him. That the life he wants to build with Aramis, the one they are building right now can continue without this particular cloud always in the background.

 

Mati chatters about what a good job he's done when he skips out of his bedroom to plop on the couch with his action figures. The knight and the princess and the dragon. Porthos often comes to play with him in the evening, so that Aramis can cook without any interruption. There's something puzzling in Belgard's will, though. So he bypasses the duel that the princess always invariably wins. Because she looks like Anne and that Mati's mother is the most powerful and intelligent and she's so cunning, the knight doesn't stand a chance against her.

 

“All good?” Aramis asks, clueless as to how he should phrase the question. At least Porthos hasn't blown a fuse so the wishes he made back in the winter must have been heard.

 

“Yeah. There's just....I think he left Mati some money.”

 

“What?” Aramis leaves the fridge door open, carelessly dumps the package of meat on the counter to come to Porthos and the list he points to on his piece of paper. “Why would he? He doesn't even know him.”

 

“No but...he knows....knew that he existed.” They talked about it when they met. Aramis remembers how proud he had been of Porthos for stating how well he was taking care of his stepson. What an incredible impact Mati and him had made on each other's existence. “And the will doesn't specify _for Mati_. Or any names. Look.”

 

The bold prints are unmistakable. Their meaning a little less clear, although it becomes quite obvious after a few seconds of reflection. _For Porthos' children_. The number of zeros behind the 1 makes Aramis a bit dizzy.

 

“As far as he was concerned, Mati was the only one who could qualify as such.” Porthos doesn't comment on the formulation, but in the midst of his confusion as to why the gesture was made by Belgard, he is damn content that the word _children_ can be associated with his name. He would have never believed it possible, would never have believed that it was something he might yearn for. He's aware that he is now, and he's done being scared by it. Porthos only demands to enjoy it to the fullest. To enjoy what an accomplished family life can mean.

 

Aramis looks shocked, gaping a little, his eyes going back and forth between the row of numbers and his boyfriend's face.

 

“I would never have believed it of him,” Porthos continues. It's easier to talk about this than to reflect on the death of his biological father. “But then again, I would have never believed he would agree to give money to orphanages. Or that he would want to leave me something. It seems that in the end, he didn't screw up everything.”

 

“Oh, Porthos.” Aramis hears the unspoken _me_ and that won't do. He refuses to have this despicable man hurt his boyfriend more, even from the grave. Porthos finds himself trapped in yet another hug, Aramis' arms clasped around his waist and squeezing with all the strength he has left. Porthos cannot help but chuckle.

 

“I'm fine, 'mis. Really. I'm done wasting time over what he did to me.”

 

“For real? You're not sad? Or angry?”

 

“I'm not,” Porthos assures him again. Aramis is looking at him somewhat doubtfully, studying him to be sure that he isn't lying. He knows for a fact that Aramis will never judge him for what he feels regarding Belgard, especially not today. “This money isn't for me. It's for Mati. And if you and Anne are okay with it, then it's all good to me.”

 

He cannot even blame Belgard for trying to be on his good side, since he's dead. Whatever prompted the legacy, it had nothing to do with hoping that Porthos would appreciate his biological father more. It wouldn't have made him do so anyway. But it's money he would more gladly give to the little boy than have on his bank account. He has enough of that as it is. Too much already coming from an absentee father.

 

“We'll ask her on Friday. Thank you, sweetie. Love you.”

 

Aramis's hands find a way underneath the other's tee-shirt. The flesh is hot against them. It makes Porthos shiver a little, until it spreads comfort from his back to the rest of his body and he's at peace. In the quiet of the kitchen and the silence which settles around them. Aramis breathes softly against his chest, fingers rubbing Porthos' skin absent-mindedly. Kneading tense muscles after a long day at work and what was actually some pretty tough news when they take the time to reflect on it. Not devastating, but nonetheless shaking.

 

The mention of Anne, even in such a matter-of-fact way, brings Porthos back to more immediate concerns, to the changes in their life that he feels more comfortable thinking about. After all, he'd known Belgard wouldn't live forever, especially not as he was so sick and weak. It's only money he's given, to places and people who will benefit so much from it. And Mati is likely to be the only child that Porthos might somehow call his own so why not let him have the entire sum? He's happy to do so.

 

The news has made their current situation with Mati's mother not as dreadful as it was. Still as complex and disturbing. But now more than ever something that Porthos is looking for. He wants to see how it unfolds, how they'll make it work. He's aware Aramis is as confused as he is, by his own feelings, by his boyfriend's, by Anne's. Focusing on them, thinking about this instead of death, it's nevertheless better. Because they've agreed it can only bring more joy, they wouldn't allow less. They wouldn't allow anything to destroy what they have built. The three of them with Mati. So it has to work. And Porthos has his mind set on achieving this. Even though he has no clue how they'll do it. He feels good with his wonderful boyfriend in his arms, that's more than enough for the evening.

 

Aramis has always been a physical person, touching and touching even when everything was well. Especially when everything was well. Touching Porthos, with his lips, or his fingers, or the tip of his shoe under a table. Thighs touching while they're sitting, shoulders bumping simply to show that he was there, he was close. That he loved Porthos. After all these months, it has never stopped. Porthos needs it. He needs Aramis close-by. He loves being touched. Even if it's only a hug. Even if it's a simple gesture to show the other that Aramis cares. It's perhaps made more powerful and essential now.

 

Somehow, Mati must have understood that there has been a shift in the atmosphere. He's relatively quieter at dinner, his legs still thrashing under the table like they always do, but he doesn't try to monopolize the conversation like he usually does. He doesn't cut anyone off, mainly because there isn't much to interrupt. The adults are mostly silent, which is unusual and leads him to answer questions in a less agitated way than he would have done normally.

 

Porthos may not feel sad or pained by Belgard's death, the news is looming above their head, making him sullen without him meaning to. Aramis feels the same. He isn't sad either, or perhaps a little because he does remember how fragile the man had looked back in December and he'll always have a soft spot for people in need. Not that Porthos' natural father could qualify as such. Which is why it's not complete sadness he feels. It's more of a dark shadow clouding the evening they had in mind. Making them both drift away from the good times they could have had as a family, or just the two of them when the boy is finally in bed, sleeping in clean sheets, not surrounded by too many toys.

 

Somehow, they only want the day to end. It wasn't a bad one per se, it was an actual great one. Busy at work in the morning, wrestling Mati so he wouldn't wander in the fitness room at the gym while both his father and his stepfather were in it. Eating sugary snacks at the bar, leaving crumbs all over the tables and the floor there. Coming back home and flirting, because their couple is still going strong and sometimes, even when they tease and joke, you can see their love shining around their embrace.

 

Only one dark cloud in a clear sky that Porthos is eager to not forget, but at least store in his memories so it won't ruin his evening, his night, the rest of the week. The rest of his life.

 

And to help do that, he needs to talk to Tréville, to find reassurance and comfort in the voice of someone else who has been here longer, who has been there at a time when Porthos' life was the most complicated. Times that Aramis cannot even begin to imagine, no matter how many stories he's heard. Porthos isn't ashamed of what he was, of what he used to do. He just needs his dad tonight. Or his voice on the phone.

 

Aramis has understood. Aramis has gone to put Mati to bed by himself.

 

“He's dead,” Porthos says again after Tréville has picked up the phone. There's silence for a while on the other end of the line. He doesn't have to specify who is for his dad to understand who they are talking about. Tréville has always noticed a shift in Porthos' tone whenever they would talk about Belgard, even if they scarcely did.

 

“And I'm not surprised. I don't think I'm surprised,” he keeps on talking when Tréville doesn't reply. “I don't feel anything right now. It's just...a shock? I guess? I don't know. I was expecting it, but still. Now he's truly gone and...I don't know. I've spent so long wishing he never existed, you know? Now he doesn't and it's like I don't mind. He's dead and I can't bring myself to care.”

 

He should be ashamed of his emotions. He's talking about a human being after all. Thankfully, Tréville, exactly like Aramis did, doesn't rebuke him. Doesn't tell him that he is wrong feeling the way he is. Porthos sinks on the couch. Tréville's voice rumbles on the phone, steady and as authoritative as it's always been. Truthful. The same voice and attitude which changed Porthos when he was a teenager. Which shaped him into the man that he is, leaving behind all the bitterness he had let grow in his heart. Which made him stop identifying himself solely as a poor and neglected orphan. But as someone's son. Finally.

 

Porthos wishes his dad could be in the room with him.

 

“He's always been a stranger for you, hasn't he?”

 

“Kind of.”

 

“Don't beat yourself up for what or how you should feel, Porthos. You said your goodbyes. You were strong enough to do that back then. You gave him everything you could that time.”

 

“Thanks, dad.”

 

“You gave him far more than he's ever given you and I'm so very proud of you for it.”

 

Porthos feels like a teenager again, eager for such compliments. For people to show him and tell him what a tremendous job he's accomplished with himself, with his past. He sighs into the phone, pleased with the honest words.

 

“He's actually just given me quite a bit more.” Porthos is still stunned by the outrageous amount of money written on the letter he's received. None of it is for him, but all put together, it's a vertiginous number. No single person should own that much. Talking about it also sounds strange, discussing great sums like it was normal. He hears his father gasp a couple of times. But he's as happy as his son that the money will be put to good use for other young children.

 

“I simply need to make an appointment with my lawyer to get it over with.”

 

“I'll come with you.”

 

It's offered without question, Tréville hardly missing a bit once Porthos has finished his sentence. It makes him sigh again, with relief to have found a father so understanding, someone who supports him so well. Who always has. Who was patient and nice even in the face of adversity.

 

When he hangs up, Porthos is peaceful, his heart isn't in such a turmoil as it's been for hours, even though he didn't want to be affected by the news. He had to be, a little bit, and talking or hugging with Aramis combined with the quiet talk with his father have helped. Tremendously. Now all he wants is to cuddle and sleep until a new day is upon him.

 

But his boyfriend is still in Mati's bedroom, and Porthos doesn't want to interrupt them. Aramis will always be a sucker for moments spent alone with his son, no matter how much he loves having Porthos around in their daily interactions. So Porthos is more than happy to let him have those times with a son that he used to only see episodically in the past. He's already had his kiss goodnight.

 

The water in the bathtub is pleasantly warm and there are so many bubbles when Porthos sinks down to the bottom that he would have swallowed some of them if his mouth had been open. Somehow, stepping into the bathroom to brush his teeth has turned into a relaxing bath. An excellent idea now that he closes his eyes and the steady rhythm of water filling the tub is all that he can hear. The crashing and the waves whenever he moves. How it splashes against his skin. How he could simply lie there and fall asleep.

 

There's a knock on the door after he's turned the water off.

 

“Are you decent?” Aramis asks. Porthos has to laugh. It's a clear sound even through the closed door. Aramis is proud of himself. He doesn't want his boyfriend to be sombre when they go to bed. He wants to cheer him up, even if he isn't sad.

 

“When has that ever bothered you?”

 

Aramis takes in the sights, the clothes carefully put away on a chair, the small puddles of water where it has splashed out of the tub. Porthos' tired face surrounded by so much foam. The fantastic scent which comes from the bubble-bath. Blueberry.

 

“Hi,” he says sweetly, kneeling and kissing Porthos' cheek. He also kisses bubbles and spits them out ungracefully. It draws another chuckle from his boyfriend. The water rumbles whenever Porthos moves. Aramis apparently doesn't care if it wets his shirt. “Better?” He smoothes Porthos' eyebrows as he asks so, moves his fingers down the side of his face, traces around his chin, settles to caress Porthos' temple for a while.

 

“Yeah. Come and join me?”

 

More water ends up on the floor after Aramis has hurried to undress and has settled in front of Porthos, sitting between his spread legs, his back to his chest. He groans with delight at the marvelous and soothing sensation. Porthos can only agree, groping the wet skin to hold on to his boyfriend's stomach. Aramis reclines, his head on the other's shoulder, hair everywhere on Porthos' face. But he wouldn't dream of complaining about it.

 

It means they are together, they are in love and they are good. They're safe.

 

“I've been dreaming about this since working-out,” Aramis mumbles. His breath itches at the fingers rubbing his hip. They're just there, not going anywhere else but back and forth on his stomach. Lazy. Porthos pushes some of the dark curls away, finds a nice spot of skin on Aramis' shoulder for him to kiss. Which he does, repeatedly.

 

“I want to go to the orphanage,” Porthos replies instead. Aramis' hair tickles his wet skin as he turns around to glance at him. Aramis finds Porthos resolute. “It's been a very long time since I've visited them and they may not know the good news. The money, I mean. I want to see them.”

 

“Of course. We'll go whenever you want.” It's a stretch for Aramis to kiss the other's lips. Porthos meets him halfway, soft mouth molding his own perfectly. Slow and loaded with all they are feeling for each other, everything so powerful that words never seem to convey how much they mean to the other. But gestures as simple as this one do. Aramis' eyes are shiny by the time he draws back.

 

“I was thinking Saturday. The kids won't have school and if the weather is as nice as today, we can play in the courtyard.”

 

“I'll ask Anne if she can watch Mati then.”

 

“Actually, 'mis, I'd like it if Mati could come. I can't remember exactly but I do believe I was about his age when I stayed there for the first time and later on, as I was older, what I do remember is how some teenagers were _so_ mean, making fun of me at school because of where I was coming from. Because I had no parents. I hated them.”

 

The hand on his cheek is drenching his beard. Yet it's treasuring him, his self and all his memories. Especially the bad ones. Aramis once again doesn't have to speak. For all the talking he usually does, a trait that his son has obviously inherited, he knows when he has to be quiet and listen. Or only be quiet. Porthos likes this silence when they can be together and it's not awkward. His boyfriend's presence is enough.

 

“I doubt Mati would become like that, because you are doing a spectaculer job raising him but I'd like him to come along and meet some of the children. To play with them. To get to know them better.”

 

“New friends? He'll hardly complain. And he won't care about their background. He's too young for that.”

 

“And he's growing up to be so privileged. You can't argue with that, Aramis. Money has never been an issue for you, just look at his school. I'm not saying it's a bad thing,” Porthos is quick to add, watching his boyfriend's face fall a little. Aramis frowns, thinking it over. “He couldn't ask for a better childhood, now that you are both in the same city and he gets to see you all the time. But it might be good for him to realize not everyone is as advantaged as he is. You're doing a stupendous job, 'mis. I didn't mean to offend you.”

 

“You didn't. It's true, I suppose. We only want the best for him.” Aramis smiles faintly at this, decides that nobody insulted him, that what Porthos said is the absolute truth, that he wouldn't have it any other way. Because if they can afford, why not give Mati everything that they can? They're not spoiling the boy so much after all. He has Anne to keep them in check.

 

He turns around completely in the tub, faces Porthos and draps himself all over him. Arms around his neck, slippery hands holding on tight. Thighs resting on top of thighs, Porthos adjusting a bit so that his boyfriend can wrap his legs around his waist. They fumble a little in their embrace until they are flushed together. Aramis shakes his head a few times, tries to get rid of the locks stuck to his forehead and his cheeks.

 

“One day, I'll get the scissors while you're asleep and give you a complimentary haircut.”

 

Aramis snorts in Porthos' face. His boyfriend would never dare do such a thing. It'd be an outrage. Aramis loves his hair and so does he. He's always telling him how fluffy it is.

 

“I love you, Porthos,” he replies instead, gives him one chaste kiss on the lips. One on the corner of his mouth. One full on his cheek. One on his eye after Porthos has closed them. “I'm glad it can still be the two of us like that after everything.”

 

It's a tiny whisper against Porthos' ear. Aramis' eyes shine with honesty and Porthos' hands grip his waist with mighty strength, keeping him as close as he can. Never letting him go. He cannot help the frightful tremors in his heart at the thought that he could have lost this exceptional man. The mere idea of it practically breaks his heart.

 

“You're my future, 'mis. You're the first person I've ever thought about building something with. And I don't want anything or anyone compromising that. I'm glad, too. That you still love me. Want me.”

 

“I'll always will. Which is why I was scared the other night. I'm almost positive it would have ruined me to have to let you go.”

 

“And you won't have to. I swear. I'm not allowing it.” To prove his point, he clutches Aramis impossibly closer, faintly registers the friction between their naked bodies. The conversation is more important than primal instincts, regardless of how Aramis gasps and shifts on his lap, aware of their proximity, too. “We're not losing this. No matter what. I'm not losing you.”

 

The profession of love appeases them both. It's the same one they've been making for days now. They'll never have enough of it. Whatever may happen with Anne, how far it might go, the boundaries and limits they will find to their new or renewed affection for her, they won't let it infringe on their couple. They're solid in their fragility, solid in their faith in each other.

 

They trust her, too and it's thrilling for Aramis as it is for Porthos to think about what might develop between them. He's been loving her for so long. Almost as long as he's loved Mati and to even begin to imagine that it can lead somewhere else, that they could show their emotions in different ways than they already are, Aramis would have never believed it possible. It is now. It's as dizzying at the money Belgard as given Mati.

 

Maybe more. Because it's nothing material, it's raw feelings and human beings involved. Especially the man swallowing down his tongue in their bathtub while they kiss greedily -another powerful sign of their exceptional desire-, all traces of his previous familial discomfort forgotten for a while. A happy while that Aramis is happy to indulge Porthos and himself in.

 

 


	2. The Fort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminded that Anne speaks Spanish to Mati when it's only the two of them. Hence "everything in italics" = Spanish.
> 
> There is a sentence in this chapter which made me actually pause and fangirl. Yes, I fangirl over my own stuff. It's allowed. I'll give you a hug and a kiss if you find which one it is :)

The book lies open on Anne's lap, Mati's fingers still pointing at the drawing of characters he knows like his friends. He's heard the story multiple times and yet, he is always ecstatic to have one of the adults read it once more. Only usually, he is more animated about it. Tonight, his mother has been noticing how much he's been yawning and rubbing at his eyes all through her tale.

 

“ _Can I have some more hot chocolate?”_ the boy requests, too tired to complain that his mother is pushing his hair back too tight. It's the only way for her to see his small eyes, to kiss the small cheeks and to lie down on top of the comfortable blankets again.

 

It's cosy under the table and the fort they have built, sheets spread on top of it, chairs scattered around it to make a tent. There's enough light to see perfectly well underneath the wood and the soft bedsheet, yet the orange glow coming from the ceiling makes their little makeshift camp all the more precious. Mati loves it.

 

“ _You've already had some. It'll hurt your tummy.”_

 

“ _But, Mamá...I like it.”_

 

“ _I can give you some milk. But plain. Nothing in it.”_

 

“ _.....Okay.”_

 

The boy is pouting, no energy left to try to argue more. Anne doesn't want to go home and leave Porthos and Aramis with a sick child. She struggles to come out from under the table. Her son might be small enough to sit perfectly well on the floor, she's had to bend her back in an uncomfortable position. Reading while lying down was not practical.

 

At least, no one is around to see her ungracious moves or how she groans, one hand on her lower back and one on the nape of her neck, massaging the tense muscles. It's easy enough to find new mugs in an appartment which is not hers but that she is starting to know more. Anne can probably count on her fingers the number of times she's had dinner or stayed in Porthos and Aramis' home for a few hours, but she does remember being invited for dinner when Aramis was away last month. The evening when Mati was so proud to present his breaded chicken and the French fries, straight from a bag that he had opened himself.

 

It's easy to find her way around a kitcken which is so well-kept she wonders if Porthos has finally tamed his boyfriend into cleaning and tidying up immediately after cooking. This would be such a feat, she decides, smiling to herself. Smiling because they may not be in the appartment with her right now, they've trusted her to ask her to come babysit Mati.

 

Anne has no doubt that they trust her tremendously, she is his mother after all, but that they may even trust her with their lives even more now. After everything that they confided just a week ago, she is positive about it. That at least this aspect of their entire relationship hasn't been compromised. Truth be told, she isn't even sure that much has indeed been compromised. For a few minutes it had seemed so, for the long hours in between her foolish kiss, how she attacked Porthos and their discussion, she had been dying inside to have ruined everything.

 

Nothing is. They certainly aren't. The boyfriends looked fine enough when she saw them the previous Sunday as they collected Mati from her house, or earlier in the day when she came to theirs. They still looked immensely in love and thrilled to spend even more time together. They looked content enough to see her, there was no awkwardness in their small talk about Mati, about her week, about what she had planned to make for dinner because they didn't want any food intoxication in their appartment.

 

The joke had been surprisingly well softened by the hug Aramis had given her. She's improved a lot, he had told her, his lips so close to her ear, like always. But this time, Anne couldn't help but feel flushed by it. Because they have talked, they have decided they wanted to try something more out of their current relationship. The three of them. So somehow, Anne can't help but feel a little different when she is around the men. Not in a bad way.

 

It's perhaps exhilirating. Dizzying to not know what is going to happen. Whatever is, though, she believes she wants it very much. She knows it. Their happiness radiates on her, their affection and their laughter and all the things which make them exceptional people. She's been spending so much time with them these past months. It could only rub on her. And she craves it.

 

The kind eyes, the chuckles, the smiles.

 

The loud whining and calls from their son when he has been waiting for too long. Mati is cranky with sleep. His mother is here with him, though, on a night when she shouldn't and it's making him want to stay up for as long as he can. He'll be six in a couple of weeks after all. He's so big.

 

“ _Are you staying to sleep, Mam_ _á_ _?”_ he asks Anne once she has managed to find her way back in their improvised fort. That she has dodged the large blankets, the teddy bears which were dragged from the boy's bedroom, and the pillows that Mati has piled up around himself. He's careful as he grab the tall glass, his mother keeping a firm hold on it while he drinks.

 

There's milk smudged around his tiny mouth after he's declared that he isn't thirsty anymore.

 

“ _I'm not, sweetie.”_ She smoothes his hair back once more, cleans his face, rubs a little more when Mati frowns and begs for her to stop. He yawns in her face when they are both lying down, looking at the sky -the underside of the table. Beautiful wood-, cuddling under the stars.

 

“ _But I want you to stay. We can sleep in the fort.”_

 

“ _This is not my home. I'm here because Papá and Porthos have gone out with some friends.”_

 

“ _When they come back, I'll tell them to let you stay. I like it when it's you and Papá and Porfos.”_

 

“ _I like it, too.”_ That much she can admit to the boy. They do make a great family, even more than what she could have wished for. She's so fortunate.

 

“ _See? You stay, Mamá. You can sleep in my bed.”_

 

“ _Not in the fort?”_

 

“ _Yes, in the fort,”_ Mati mumbles. His eyes are closed, the fingers gliding on his cheek lulling him to a sleep he doesn' want, but that he needs. Anne smiles at the picture of cuteness she is holding in her arms. She's blessed with an incredible baby and she loves him so much. How he purses his lips to try to find a way to not have to say good bye. She doubts he'll have to. He'll be asleep way before she has to actually leave.

 

“ _Papá and Porfos can come, too.”_

 

“ _It might get a little crowded.”_

 

“ _Papá and Porfos can hug. They hug all the time.”_

 

“ _Is that so?”_ Anne fails to see the link between their display of affection and their sleeping arrangments. It must mean something in his little mind. Mati shakes his head under her arm, burps and then again.

 

“ _They hug because they're in love. They told me so. It's like when Papá hugs you.”_

 

Is it so obvious that even a six-year-old realized it before the adults did? Mati may interpret things he sees in a different way than what they actually mean, he's spent so much time with the three of them. They've spent so many days as their little cluster of a family. And they've been such good friends. Besides, Anne is aware that she's always had a peculiar relationship with Aramis, from before they even spent a night together.

 

If people asked her, she would say that she loved him. Because she does. She loves him as a terrific best friend, someone who knows her well, who's been there when it was the hardest, who has never let her down. He almost knows her inside and out. He knows her enough to know what makes her the most uncomfortable, to know from the slighest twitch in her eyes that something is wrong. They love each other enough to be familiar and close, to touch and in fact, hug, without thinking anything about it.

 

Except that perhaps they should. Love doesn't have to be a strong attraction from the get-go. It doesn't have to be only an interest in sleeping with someone, this isn't love at all. It might not have to be romantic from the very beginning. They tried and they failed. They didn't try to force the feelings and in the end, the feelings found them nonetheless. Natural as breathing. A life without Aramis, without the father of her child, Anne cannot envision it. And not only for Mati's sake. For hers, as well. She needs him.

 

And perhaps their love, their friendship, it's so deep and powerful that they haven't realized what a small boy has apparently noticed.

 

No wonder Porthos was sometimes jealous of her.

 

It's hopefully all behind them. No more drama, no more thinking that couples are going to break up or that she is going to lose people dear to her. Anne may even win some more in the wake of what she believed would be a tragedy.

 

Carefully, silently, she scrambles from under the table one last time. Mati is all wrapped up in his blankets, one horse plush in his grip, mouth open as his breathing evens out and he sleeps soundly.

 

It's quiet while she puts her shoes back on, makes herself some tea, peruses the shelves to find an interesting book and then takes her shoes off again to get comfortable on the couch. She likes the men's living room. It's warm and it's filled with pictures and little objects which would make for a strange arrangement anywhere else. It's so them, every souvenir, every glossy photograph. There's living love in the place, and not solely the one given to a child. That, she has plenty of a few streets away in her own appartment.

 

It's a sunny feeling settling in her heart to think of the happy times spent right where she is sitting, where she is walking. Never as silent as her living room often is. And they want her to benefit from it. They want her to enjoy it, to contribute to it. They're offering her their lives and possibly their hearts and Anne can't help the tremor of hope in her bones. She's waited so long.

 

All too soon, and yet she's read a handful of chapters already, the key turns in the lock and Anne knows that her quiet haven is slipping through her fingers. It doesn't lessen the smile widening on her lips as she stands up to greet Porthos and Aramis.

 

“Everything's all right?” Aramis whispers.

 

He almost turns on the ceiling lights that Anne had switched off. She looks tired but she welcomes the kiss on her cheek, returns it like she's always done. His hand might linger a little more on her arm. They don't quite know what their boundaries are, if they have any, if they should have new ones. There are so many things they have yet to talk about, the three of them without a bouncing child demanding their undivided attention.

 

“Everything's fine. He's sleeping,” Anne reassures him.

 

She's already moved on to Porthos, maybe a bit more apprehensive on that front. She's still mortified by how she kissed him, regardless of how he said that it was all good, that she had apologized and explained her reason. She's not blushing when she looks at him so there's that. She likes the clothes and the jacket he had on for their dinner out. She likes how his eyes brighten at her sight, genuinely glad to see her. She likes how he moves a little less fast as he bends his head to kiss her cheek.

 

It's more timid than with Aramis, more timid than how they used to say hello even two weeks before. It's loaded, now. There is so much behind the gesture, so many things that it could mean, that it can mean. That it will.

 

It's like they are taking baby steps in unchartered waters. Her skin is nevertheless pleasantly smooth and scented under his lips, even if Porthos hardly gives her more than a peck. It's already enough. It makes his heart speed up. Being with Aramis is easy. Aramis is everything that Porthos could wish for and it's effortless for them. Exactly like the perfect life should be. Aramis has rarely been shy with Porthos, they've known almost from the beginning where they stood.

 

Anne is a totally different business. She's still her, she's there, on the side where she's been since Porthos met her. On the side of their couple, yet very much at the center of it. But while she used to be something which could make the men drift apart, someone they could argue and fight about, now she's at the center for a totally different matter. She's not here to destroy anything, she's never wanted to. She simply wants to be loved.

 

She may make them stronger, glue them more powerfully. Bur for that they need to get involved. More than they already are. Being friends won't cut it anymore. And Porthos is aware that he desires more from her and from them. It's so new, so unsettling that he hasn't been able to talk about it with anyone but Aramis, who is as clueless and who actually finds relief in their mutual astonishment.

 

Porthos has never done that. He had never done it with one person before Aramis and now they are going to try to do it all three of them together? Even though Porthos still doesn't know how far it'll go, what they'll all want out of their new relationship, it makes no doubt that it'll go a long way. It has to. They can't screw it up.

 

They can be afraid, yes. They can hesitate and fumble. They can make faux-pas because who knows how to act when you have two partners? It's bewildering enough that such a thing could happen to him for more than a one-night-stand.

 

As long as they talk and are honest like they finally were the week before, Porthos is sure they can make it work. He desperately wants it to work. So much that since the mere idea of the possibility has been brushed, it's all he's been able to think about. He wants love, he wants to be cherished, he wants to have a myriad a people around him to live with. People who will care for him, value him, grow with him.

 

Anne is so amazing as she is. Sacrificing and hard-working and funny without necessarily meaning to. Well-grounded, mature beyond her years, so cultured and a real joy to be around. How she shakes her head and smiles lightly. How her laughter echoes around her. How her eyes tinkle whenever she is deeply content.

 

How her eyes tinkle tonight as Porthos withdraws and she goes to kiss his cheek back. She's hesitating, too, he can feel it in the way her hand barely grazes his sleeve. Her lips are soft on his rugged skin, but they press perhaps harder than how she used to kiss him hello before.

 

They'll be all right.

 

“What is that?” Aramis almost exclaims, finally visualizing the state of his appartment. It's not chaos in it, and yet somehow, their table seems to have disappeared.

 

“We made a fort,” Anne explains. “Mati said you did sometimes.”

 

“We do. It's usually down before he goes to bed, though. Porthos doesn't like when it's messy.”

 

“Well, he's sleeping there.”

 

“He's what?” Aramis almost shouts. Then he asks again, in a whisper.

 

“He's sleeping there. He said you've done it before.” She points behind her, looks behind her shoulder while she does so. Once she is staring at Aramis again, she understands that something isn't quite right. “....Haven't you?”

 

“I think we did it once. Didn't we?” Aramis asks Porthos, who only shrugs. He's lost count of all the fantasies Mati has been demanding since living with them.

 

“In the fall. I think it was raining pretty hard and we couldn't go out and....”

 

“Oh yes!” Porthos finally remembers. “And we did a poor job of roasted marshmallows on the stove and he woke us up in the middle of the night because it was cold in the fort and he wanted to go to bed.”

 

“And we had to gather all his supplies for him,” Aramis finishes. It's a nice memory in the end. Now that many months have passed. He also vividly remembers being grumpy at having to pick up teddy bears and pillows for his son who had passed out again the moment he was on his bed, leaving the hard work to the adults.

 

“He said you did it all the time,” Anne says, feeling more and more embarassed. Porthos is trying not to smile too much at how discomfited she looks. It's as adorable as when Aramis does.

 

It's puzzling to have all these emotions assaulting him and that he doesn't have to feel guilty for them anymore. They had been coming in small ripples for quite a few weeks, unsettling little details or words from Anne which would make his mind go fuzzy with delight. Now that her kissing him has triggered his big revelation of what he might really feel for her, he can finally acknowledge them without shame. It's refreshing. It's like a weight lifted off his heart and his mind, one he was vaguely aware of but that he didn't want to acknowledge because it terrified him. For no reason, apparently.

 

“I've been played, haven't I?”

 

“You're not the first one to fall into the cunning traps of Mati, don't worry. It's nothing.”

 

“Hopefully this time he'll sleep through the night,” Porthos reassures her. Pats her back with the hand he had never taken off after greeting her. Anne takes a large step back once she realizes that as well. She'd liked it. She's enjoying their fumbling attempts at being closer. Enjoying that no one is frowning or remarking on what she is doing. Enjoying that Aramis only takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes.

 

Anne has always been a confident person and yet, as soon as Porthos and Aramis and their mutual feelings are involved, she turns into that shy mush that she isn't pleased with. It'll get better.

 

“I'll make us some tea,” Aramis decides, still talking in whispers, wondering how much time they'll be granted before Mati hears something and is jostled from sleep.

 

“And coffee,” Porthos urges, trailing behind his boyfriend to the kitchen, only closing the door after Anne has followed them in.

 

“I think I'll go home since you don't need me anymore.”

 

Aramis whirls on his heels, winces at how it twists his ankle. This time, Porthos does frown, looking pointedly at him. His injury will never get better if his boyfriend is so careless about it. It doesn't deter Aramis who seems outraged.

 

“We always need you! We always need you,” he repeats softly, his eyes set on her.

 

The truth pours from his mouth, talking about tonight, but also talking about everything else. About their life. He couldn't live if Anne wasn't in it. It's been so exceptional having her and their son in Paris. It's taken some time to adjust, and it'll more likely take more time to adjust to what is happening to the three of them, yet Aramis is positive that Anne belongs in his existence. It was torture living away from her and Mati for these few years while he was studying and they had stayed in Madrid.

 

Anne smiles at his renewed declaration, enough so that he seems satisfied that she won't make any more attempt to go. Instead, she folds her hands, watches him make his preparation. So does Porthos, although he can't help glancing at Anne. It's all going well so far. But they've known from the beginning that going out for dinner with Flea and Charon wouldn't be the end of the day.

 

Brunch has been turned into monthly dinner since living with a child reduced the numbers of Sundays they could meet and frankly, when they didn't have Mati, Porthos objected to waking up when he could have slept in for as long as he desired. His friends aren't complaining. It's a nice change of setting, new restaurants and bars to try. And so many things to discuss tonight.

 

Porthos feels better and fresher having talked about Belgard's death with them. Having laughed and tried Aramis' food, having indulged on his favorite dessert. It's made his apprehension about the discussion they were aware they would have with Anne vanish. If only a little. He'll need the coffee.

 

“Besides, we brought you back cake,” he mentions, holding out the box in his hand. Anne looks at it, looks at his face, looks at Aramis who is handing her a fork.

 

“For me? Why?”

 

“Because.”

 

Aramis dares her to contradict him, which she wouldn't do, it'd be a lost fight anyway, so she dutifully grabs the box, the fork and the steaming mug offered to her. It's a precarious installation in Mati's bedroom. The room is more comfortable than the kitchen, they can sit on the bed and there is a fluffy foostool with animal designs on it. It's large enough so that Anne can set her drink on it next to her while eating.

 

Their bedroom would have been larger and yet, Aramis couldn't bring himself to suggest it. It's too soon and he doesn't even know if they'll ever go there, the three of them. He doesn't wish to embarrass anyone, that'd be counterproductive.

 

“But that's your favorite dessert, Porthos!” Anne exclaims, the box open on her lap. She knows because back in the fall, she had asked Aramis about it, when she had set her mind on baking Porthos' favorite cake for his birthday. When she had been told about the meringue pie and all that it entitled, she had deemed it wiser to go a safer way with simple yoghurt cake. “We can share it.”

 

“I've already had some at the restaurant.”

 

“Which is why we thought we'd bring you some. It's heaven in your mouth. Go on, try it.”

 

“Thank you. I really don't deserve you.”

 

“Nonsense. Our treat.”

 

Aramis flashes her a bright smile from behind the steam he is blowing on. He's practically sitting on Porthos, wondering how the bed can support both of their weight. Perhaps their bedroom would have been better, less chance of breaking furniture. Porthos also looks at her as she eats, tiny bites of sugary crust and lemon curd. It's pretty how she closes her eyes to enjoy the taste. How her cheeks take on a rosy color because her tea is so hot, it's like a fire is burning in her mouth and her throat.

 

“There's something we must talk about,” Aramis says bluntly. He's a bit sorry when Anne chokes on her moutful because of the abrupt change of subject. He isn't sure the bright color on her face is only due to her drink now. “Apart from the obvious, I mean. Something else which came up.”

 

“My....bio father died.”

 

It's as easy to say it today as it was two days ago when Porthos learned about it. This hasn't changed. But time is starting to make him feel maybe a little sadder than he expected to be. He's been quieter since the news, talking less even though he is certain that it won't last. Aramis has been as supportive as ever. Sitting in silence before going to bed, diverting Mati's attention away from his stepfather so he could have time to himself.

 

It's nothing as it was in the fall when Belgard reached out to him. This was devastating and he overcame it wonderfully. Better than he would have imagined. He's had so many remarkable people to help. A death now, as final as it is, it's like having a hole somewhere inside of him. Never as big as the one his mother left, but still. It's there, somewhere. Porthos has no clue where it comes from, he doesn't want it. Belgard has never wanted him, now that he is gone, he shouldn't matter to Porthos anymore. And still, a death is a death, as cruel as this one was, because it reminds him of his unfortunate mother gone too soon and gone because of the same illness.

 

Porthos may not want to be sad, he is nonetheless. It's helped to talk with his friends, to have Aramis by his side. To always have him by his side. He grabs Porthos' hand at the words, threads their fingers and watches them flex in his grasp. Clutching powerfully, as if Porthos is putting everything that he's been feeling in that simple gesture.

 

“I'm sorry?” Anne hazards. She also remembers December all too well. When he doesn't flinch at the words, doesn't tell her that the man never deserves compassion, she says it again. “I'm sorry, Porthos.”

 

“It's fine.” But his voice cracks a little as he waves his free hand. This is a safe place, this is home and those two with him belong there, they belong close to him. Porthos knows he can let go. He can trust Anne enough to not react or find it strange if he were to cry. He hasn't cried yet because of this particular death, but Aramis knows it'll happen. When, he can't tell, but soon.

 

“I never really knew him and he didn't care for me and he abandoned me so it's fine. Really.”

 

Stating what he hates about Belgard grounds him. It surpasses the trembling in his voice that none of the others can ignore.

 

“Can I give you a hug?”

 

There isn't a second of hesitation as Porthos nods and Anne finds herself nestled on the bed between the two of them. It's warm and it's loving and her arms are so ridiculously small around his neck. Clutching, long blond hair tickling the skin of his neck. She isn't hugging as strongly as she would Aramis, but she's here next to him, there is nothing improper or embarassing about the situation. No one has raised an eyebrow at the question. She may not even have needed to ask it.

 

It's quiet and Porthos breathes out, hot air coming down on her face. He smells wonderfully good, a mixture of coffee and shower gel from earlier she supposes. He smells like work-out and energy spent. He smells reassuring. He feels so, too, one strong arm around her waist, squeezing more than she is allowing herself. He does need and require all the love he can be given. He'll never grow tired of it, be it from his friends, from his dad or from Aramis and Mati. If now he can be that close to Anne, too, it's magical and unexpected and clearly, there are people above who must be thanked for these marvelous developments.

 

Aramis presses against her back, pushes her more into Porthos' arms as his circles both her and his boyfriend so he can join in the hug. He's heavy on her, not careful in his movement. Anne can't complain. Porthos' heart is beating somewhere against her chest, a smooth rhythm which would put anyone at ease. Aramis is breathing down in her neck as well, tickling but familiar and intimate.

 

He's still him, with his crazy hair and his sweet smiles and all his kindness. All the things that she loves him for.

 

She's light between them, Aramis realizes, molding against him and one hand timidly opening so he can slide his in it. They're holding on to Porthos' shirt together, and Aramis had never realized how much he enjoyed feeling her rings and her bracelet against his skin. He is startled by his thoughts, resolute as he always had been that they couldn't make it work as a couple. That any hint of romantic love or relationship between the two of them was doomed. That it was better to leave it in the past than to force it. Perhaps they simply needed more time and the spectacular human being that is Porthos to make them see what had always been in front of their eyes. It's perplexing but if it means spending more time with her, making her happy, making them all happy, it's definitely worth it.

 

Aramis kisses the top of her head like he's always done it. It's not a comforting gesture. Or perhaps it is, deep down. It's also a thanking one and the pressure of his lips on her hair makes Anne sigh, shift closer to Porthos if possible. Porthos' hands are firm now on his boyfriend's back. Before they were a hindrance between him and Anne but now Aramis feels good. He feels safe in Porthos' arms, glad for the addition that Anne makes. It's a soft kiss above her head when Aramis reaches towards Porthos.

 

Soft but long. Still the same as it's always been. Thank God Aramis didn't drink much during dinner or he would have believed this was a hallucination. It's making him question everything. His love for Anne, sure, but also its force, its impact, its ramifications. Not its origins. He knows why he loves her. Probably for the same reasons as Porthos.

 

“Thank you,” Porthos eventually says after they have somewhat managed to sit straighter on the bed. Aramis refuses to let go of Anne's hand that he keeps clasped in his. She's flushed between them, Porthos' arm strong on her back, his fingers grazing Aramis' right side. “You don't have to ask next time.”

 

Anne is done questioning this. They've made it clear that this type of gestures were more than acceptable. More will probably be in the near future but for now, simple affectionate displays are enough to make her giddy. It's never happened with anybody else. Not even with Aramis alone.

 

“Belgard left an inheritance, that's what we wanted to talk about. He's left money for my orphanage and others. We're going there tomorrow as a matter of fact.”

 

“With Mati?”

 

“Yes. There are plenty of children for him to meet there.”

 

“If that's okay wih you,” Aramis chimes in.

 

“Why wouldn't it? He loves having new friends.”

 

His thoughts exactly.

 

“He also left money for Mati,” Porthos continues. This time, Anne starts, turns around toward him and almost hits Aramis in the face. One quick apology and some rearrangements on the bed later, she can resume being surprised.

 

“Why?”

 

“It's not actually specified _for Mati_. It's for my potential children in general and so far, that only includes Mati and I said to Aramis that you know....I could....Mati already sees me as his....And I think I do, too....but....you know. If you agree, it can be his. The money.”

 

Anne doesn't wait to act on his advice, reaching out again to hug him. It's a stronger one this time, even if it doesn't last as long.

 

“Of course you are, Porthos. He loves you and I couldn't have wished for someone better to help Aramis and I. You are excellent with Mati.”

 

These are the same praises Aramis has made so many times in the past, and truly Porthos believes them. It doesn't mean he'll ever be able to stop being emotional about it.

 

Aramis pats his back, smiles a tired smile after Anne has let his boyfriend go.

 

“We already have so much money for Mati, though,” Anne hesitates. “It's a very nice gesture, but perhaps you could give this money to the orphans as well?”

 

“Oh, believe me, they have already much more than I expected he would give them. Besides, I'm not even sure I could transfer the money. I haven't seen my lawyer yet so I don't know, but I suppose wills can't be altered like that.”

 

Porthos scratches his cheek, rubs at his eye because there's something in it, obviously. He drinks his lukewarm coffee in one long swallow, feels clearer-headed after he's done. Aramis and Anne are both looking at him, waiting. Aramis had tried to make the same suggestion the previous day and had received the same answer.

 

“Seriously, if Mati can have this money, then I'm happy to make it happen. It doesn't mean he has to use it right away. Put it somewhere on a bank account, let it work and buy him a car when he's eighteen.”

 

“Or several.”

 

Anne doesn't know the exact sum of money they are talking about, and after Aramis' remark she certainly doesn't want to. It's too much all at once. To realize that someone who had chunned Porthos all his life did this at the last moment. That he tried to make peace with his wrongs and wanted to give small people the means to succeed in life. The total opposite of what Belgard did when his son was little. What he did only later in life when he finally met Porthos. Money can't buy you happiness, they have everything that they need for it already.

 

Porthos looks so resolute, though, that after losing his natural father and making such efforts not to break down, making efforts -or are they really?- to include her, she cannot resist him.

 

“All right then. Thank you.” And then, she leans in to kiss his cheek thank you, without thinking twice about it. It's only when she hears Porthos' breath itch and she's drawn back that she realizes she's never asked if that, also, was fine.

 

Aramis' grin tells her that it is once she glances at him. Porthos looks stunned but pleased.

 

“Hey! Where are you going?” Aramis exclaims after she's dashed from her safe spot between them. What an unacceptable thing to do: to leave them without her comfortable warmth right next to the both of them. Anne plops back on the footstool, staring at him, fork already in hand.

 

“Cake, Aramis.”

 

“Oh, right. All right, then.” But he's disappointed nonetheless. Anne resumes eating in silence, perplexed by how much she wants to be affectionate with Porthos and Aramis now that she is truly allowed to. Kissing cheeks is already better than what she could have expected. If she feels such incredible sensations from something as simple as that, she cannot wait to see what the future might bring.

 

“I need to eat because you've put all of these horrible thoughts in my head.”

 

The boyfriends are both recipients of her dark look. She points her fork at them, not long enough to forget that she also needs it to eat.

 

“What have we done?”

 

“You've talked about Mati and cars. About Mati being _eighteen_. That's not cool.”

 

Porthos snorts at her relaxed tone, at her pouting face. Aramis laughs out loud.

 

“He's still my baby and I don't want to think of him as a teenager who will always be brooding, who will hate us every other day and who will not talk to me anymore. His speech has improved so much since we've moved here.”

 

“It has.” Aramis can only agree with her random remark. Two languages were always tough on the boy and he used to make so many mistakes, mixing French and Spanish, mixing sounds and words. And now he's making actual sentences and can switch more easily between languages and for his parents, it's a relief.

 

“He's been telling me very interesting things tonight, actually.” Anne smirks a little around her mouthful. They're making her feel so protected and secure in their conversation, including her in everything. Like it had always been as far as Mati was concerned, but with now the addition that she can really talk about anything and it will be welcome. Like talking to two great friends. Only better. “Things about you two.”

 

“I swear we haven't snitched about his birthday surprise,” Aramis is quick to promise.

 

Porthos snorts again, a sound which comforts Aramis. It makes him snuggle closer to his boyfriend, one arm around his shoulder and the other holding on to an available hand. It's hot and sweaty against his palm, but nothing would make him let go of Porthos. Aramis gives him a kiss right on the corner of his mouth, eager to show more love now that they can do so in front of Anne. Not that they ever refrained before, they are notorious for this very fact. Now, though, he feels a bit freer actually doing it. Because Anne doesn't mind. Anne _loves_ it.

 

“He said nothing about his birthday. He was talking about precisely _that_.” She nods towards them, how wrapped up in each other they are only a few inches away from her. Only the gap between the bed and her seat separating them. Her stomach fills with fuzzy emotions, they nestle around the sweet lemony taste she's indulging in. They take a hold of her, of her mind and her heart and her chest heaves a bit with the pleased breath she draws at the sight. It's peculiar, she adores it and she won't apologize for it. Not anymore.

 

“About you hugging and kissing all the time. That's what he said.”

 

“We don't kiss _all the time_.”

 

“We have to breathe sometimes.”

 

“No, seriously, Anne,” Aramis says, nudging Porthos and biting his cheek. “We do know how to take care of him. We haven't neglected him this week.”

 

“Of course you haven't. He's not complaining. He was simply pointing it out.”

 

“Not complaining? He finds it disgusting.”

 

“He finds it disgusting that I even kiss you on the cheek. He's at that age. He'll grow out of it. It's nice anyway, to see that you are still the same after everything.”

 

Her sentence finishes in a mumble, because somehow, they do have to address what has been lingering behind their easy banter and conversation. They may not think twice about tiny actions, they do have to talk about what has been triggering them. And Mati seems to be sleeping perfectly well in his fort. They won't be interrupted tonight.

 

“We're better perhaps,” Aramis ponders. “It would have destroyed all of us in the end if we hadn't realized what was happening.”

 

“And it's good to have you here with us. I may have been even more looking forward to coming home and seeing you than I was to have dinner with my friends.”

 

She perks up at Porthos' honest admission. So bold. It costs him to say it, to express his feelings so openly. He's rarely done it with anybody else but Aramis and even then, it had taken some time. He's known Anne for long months now. More than a year. She's family already. He feels that he can confide in her without fearing anything.

 

“I like it, too. I'm looking forward to next week.” Her confession for his confession. Aramis nods. He is as well.

 

It'll be heartbreaking to have to say good bye to Mati for a week when he'll be in Spain with his grandparents. He's stressed that the boy has to take a plane by himself even if he is aware that they have flight attendants to take care of him, to make sure that he doesn't get lost. It'll be the longest Mati has spent without both of his parents and they are all apprehensive about how it will go. For the time being, the child is enthusiastic about flying, about the holidays, about seeing people he hasn't seen since Christmas. The fact that none of his parents will be with him hasn't bothered him so far.

 

Sending Mati away incidentally means that they will have a weekend to themselves, seven nights without any child to supervise. All the time in the world to be the three of them and do more together. In spite of how close they are, there is so much that needs to be discovered, so much that needs to be explored without having to worry about anything else but how they can improve their relationship.

 

Anne is counting the days -if not the hours- to their night out next Saturday.

 

“It'll be nice, to finally have time together. This is nice, don't take me wrong.” Aramis gestures towards all of them with the hand still on Porthos' shoulder. “I wouldn't have believed it could be like this. I really thought....”

 

But he shakes his head, decides that it's not worth dwelling on how he stupidly thought Porthos would leave him for Anne. Or how stupid it was to think that she would never want to see them again, that she would take his son away from him. Instead, Aramis decides that it's better to focus on what makes him feel whole and joyful.

 

“I enjoy it, as I've always done. Hugging you, holding your hand.” He leans towards her to grab it as he says so. She's done with her dessert and Aramis doesn't seem to mind that her fingers are a bit sticky. She holds on to his. Her eyes flicker to Porthos who has shifted closer. “Talking with you.”

 

“Yes. That makes me happy, too,” she confesses, finds delight in how Porthos smiles, looks her up and down. His fingers drum on his thigh. She's wanted Porthos' comfort and affection for far longer than she'd care to admit. She's wanted how his arms closed around her, how she could finally understand why Aramis would trust him with his life. She's wanted to be touched by both of them in such innocent ways that it simply meant she was part of them.

 

Anne half-stumbles from the footstool in her haste to grab the drumming fingers. They're blazing hot against hers. They're rough against her smooth skin. Porthos looks at her with bewildered eyes, but he squeezes her hand so hard.

 

“This is so good. In a strange way,” he starts. “It's different and I hardly know how to handle everything.”

 

“None of us do.” Aramis chuckles, the hint of his anxiety in his voice. They all have this in common, they can gather strength from it, the three of them aware that they have no idea what they are doing. Simply that they want to do it. That they need it.

 

“What I do know is that somewhere inside, I've been dying for it,” Porthos continues. It's a struggle to find the correct words, to avoid making any mistake or saying stuff which could be misinterpreted. They are patient, they know him. He can take his time. Aramis' thumb rubs back and forth on Porthos' hand. “I want this so much. I want Aramis, I've always wanted him, from the very first day. But I want you, too. However you want me. This is really amazing. Just this.”

 

Their hands are clasped so tight Anne can barely feel her fingers anymore. It doesn't matter. Her smile is growing, apprehension floating away. She had no reason to be, yet it's a relief to see that Porthos was anxious as well. They'll make it work.

 

“I want to be with you, even if it means only talking and holding hands and going out for dinner.” Deep inside, Porthos is hoping for more. It wouldn't do to press her into something she might not be comfortable doing. They can be patient. She's come such a long way as it is. She was so afraid of dating anyone, of letting strangers come into her life. And that's exactly the point: they aren't strangers. They're Aramis and Porthos. They're the fathers of her son, by blood and by choice.

 

“And I'll say it again, if you want more, we are more than open for it.” Aramis apparently doesn't have the same restraint as his boyfriend, since he states loud and clear what the other was thinking. Porthos scowls. Aramis shrugs.

 

Anne has started at the blunt offering. She cannot help the blush spreading on her cheeks at what the words do to her mind. It's about the only thing she has been able to think about since last Friday and their mutual resolution to see if they could become more than very good friends. It's where it will lead them eventually, if they don't mess it up. How they would do that, she is clueless. Which is why her thoughts are clouded by all the further developments which could happen between her and the men.

 

Kissing, not solely on cheeks. Touching, not only holding hands. And so much more that even though it's all safe in her mind, it makes her uncomfortable to have such ideas. Not that she is embarassed by them. They are overwhelming and so wanted that sometimes, it's hard to breathe. And they aren't even there in their relationship.

 

Anne wants it all. Eveything that they are suggesting. It's new, though, and it hasn't been long since she could freely let her mind wander there without feeling guilty. The blush spreads down her neck a little. She has to advert her eyes to avoid looking directly at any of them.

 

“I mean, we wouldn't jump on you if you didn't want to!” Aramis has come to understand why Porthos was elbowing him in the ribs and why Anne looked like she was going to burst into flames. “We're not like that.”

 

“We're not animals.”

 

“Well....” Aramis cocks his head, thinking this over. Porthos rolls his eyes in such a dramatic fashion that in a second, Anne has stopped being overwhelmed by the situation. Their antics are so precious. Aramis is his ridiculously adorable self and they understand each other perfecly. Porthos only needed one glance to see what his boyfriend was referring to. Anne would have been embarassed if they had had this conversation a month or two before.

 

A month or two before, they wouldn't even have tried to talk about sex with such liberty in front of her. Hearing them do so, realizing that they might be thinking the same thing as she is, it brings her more joy and satisfaction. They're all the same. Equal in their uncertainties and their desires.

 

Anne chuckles at their cute exchange. The way Aramis shakes his head, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes while he stares at Porthos. The way Porthos shoves his shoulder and makes Aramis stumble backwards on the bed. Anne's hand falls limply by her side.

 

“Perhaps we _are_....sometimes. But we wouldn't be with you, if you didn't want us to,” Porthos comes to the rescue, rephrasing and finding it oddly exhilirating to be so open with each other. Aramis rubs his shoulder, pouts and demands a kiss. Porthos indulges him.

 

“But if you do, truly do, just know that we do, too. And that we can be as patient as we must for it. Don't feel pressured into anything. We'll love you regardless.”

 

Anne's blush has receded a bit, only for her cheeks to flush with contentment at Aramis' words and at those which follow. He's scrunching his nose.

 

“I can't quite picture us being so involved again. But I wouldn't have pictured us in such a position last year so who knows? You make me feel good, the both of you.”

 

Fingers tug on his ponytail, harsh yet familiar, Porthos soothing the tease by running his hand in the lush curls. Aramis almost moans at the feeling. He does so after when Porthos leans in and kisses him on the mouth. It's sweet and rewarding. Not as chaste as all their kisses have been whenever Anne was around. There's no point hiding it when they are trying to move forward.

 

Aramis sorts of forget about their audience, his lips parting under the pressure of Porthos' scorching hot ones. There's only the tip of his tongue daring come inside his mouth, and Aramis desperately wants more, shuffling closer to his boyfriend, pushing his head forward, tongue chasing after Porthos'. Light strokes which drive him crazy. But Porthos learned long ago that for all the teasing Aramis likes to do, he's a sucker for being teased himself.

 

That's why he cups the nape of Aramis' neck, pulls him in closer, lick his boyfriend's lips, watches with half-closed eyes how they marvelously shine. Aramis breathes out against him, clutches Porthos' wrist with mighty strength and trembling fingers, urging him to hold him tighter than he already is. He's panting before Porthos even decides that for all that he is doing, he desperately wants to kiss his boyfriend and all but lunges at the other.

 

Two hands cling to Porthos' hair, Aramis struggling for air, heaving, forehead resting against Porthos'. Their breaths mingle in between the kisses they pepper on their mouths and on their cheeks.

 

Anne sits back on her seat, unable to look at anything but them and their show and that's when they remember that she was always there in the first place. Except she isn't upset that they seemed to have forgotten her. How could she? This is the best thing she's been able to witness in months, if not years. It has her mesmerized even after they are done kissing. They can't stop touching, though. It crashes over her, the realization that she wants to be kissed like that soon. By Aramis. By Porthos.

 

It was so beautiful, so perfect and raw. Such dedication and love. The hint of familiarity everywhere in their movements, in their noises. She wants that, too. It's all that her heart desires. To be close when they talk, when they laugh and when they joke. To be close in their intimacy as well. To be close in every sense of the term.

 

She's smiling at them, taking in how Aramis' chest heaves while he struggles for breath and how Porthos' clothes are a bit dishevelled from all the grasping and pulling.

 

Nobody apologizes and this, more than the rest, reassures her. More than the peck on the cheek she gets from Aramis. His lips are so wet they make her shiver. Porthos' kiss is rougher, his beard wilder than his boyfriend's. He looks sheepish as he realizes how it's scratched her cheek, but Anne couldn't care less. She literally cannot stop smiling and it's made her forget that it was past midnight and that they were all incredibly tired.

 

“You could stay,” Aramis offers. “I mean, we have the couch.” He stutters in his haste to be sure she knows his intentions are admirable. Damn Porthos for clouding his brain.

 

“I live only ten minutes from here, thank you.”

 

They know better than to insist, because she's Anne and after everything that they've done and talked about tonight, they are positive one day soon she'll say yes. She'll stay.

 

Porthos refuses her help carrying everything back to the kitchen. Aramis brings her discarded shoes so she can be on her way. He stifles a yawn.

 

“Are you sure?” He has to press. “I for one, think I'll pass out the moment I lie down. I can't imagine having to walk at such ungodly hours.”

 

“I'm fine, Aramis. Don't worry about me. I'll send you a text when I get home if that makes you feel better.”

 

“Yes. Although I might already be asleep.”

 

Anne has been rubbing his shoulder and he's watching her nails move, the perfect red nail polish glittering in the soft light.

 

“Is Porthos going to be all right? With his father and all?”

 

“I guess....He isn't talking much about it. He's saying it's nothing, that the guy never mattered to him, but I know that's not true. He'll come around at some point and I intend to be there when he does.”

 

“That's why it should only be the two of you tonight. He needs you.”

 

Anne's tone is soft and so maternal. She's as selfless as Porthos is. She's not fool enough to pretend that she could one day replace Aramis in his boyfriend's heart. Not that she intends to. She can come along and fill it with more love, the men have found and created something exceptional that not even her can crack. Anne is fine with it. They want her anyway.

 

“I love you, Anne. I have, for as long as I can remember having a life with you.”

 

Her lips linger on his cheek, both hands strong on his shoulders now that they have stood up. She's almost at his height with her heels and everything about her is inviting.

 

After she's gone and everything is silent in the appartment, that Porthos has fallen asleep marvelling at what a good time they've had, that Aramis has spooned his boyfriend because he can never be close enough, he drifts to sleep with the ghost of her kiss still on his face and the warm taste of Porthos' lips on his satisfied and smiling ones.

 

He cannot wait for their date next Saturday.

 


	3. The Orphanage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mati always speaks Spanish first thing in the morning. "italics" = Spanish

Somehow, Porthos knew that if they were lucky enough for Mati to actually sleep the whole night in his fort under the dining table, he would invariably wake up at the sounds of his stepfather getting ready for work. Aramis is used to it, sound sleeper that he is, and only rolls over because he, for one, doesn't have to work on Saturdays. But it's a grouchy Mati who comes out from under the table, dragging a blanket with him.

 

“ _Tired.”_

 

Porthos is in the kitchen, finding that everything makes way too much noise in the silence. The coffee machine is incredibly loud, of course he drops his metal spoon on the counter, and winces when it clatters. It's too early for the boy to be up, his stepfather doesn't have time to take care of him and he doubts Aramis would be pleased to have to do it.

 

So he sweeps Mati up in his arms, blanket, teddy bear and all. He hardly talks, one hand on the blond hair, holding his head against his shoulder. Anything so that Mati can go back to sleep as quickly as he can. And Porthos will talk Spanish if that helps, because it's the first language coming to the boy's mind in the morning and switching to another would only confuse him.

 

“ _Pap_ _á_ _,”_ Mati slurs.

 

“ _Okay.”_

 

After all, there is barely any blankets or sheets left on the child's bed. They usually never allow him to sleep in their bed, he has his own and it's very cosy. Aramis mumbles at how the bed sinks around him and his shoulder is shoved. There's a very tiny weight snuggling against him, which is clearly not what he expected.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Mati's awake and he wanted you.”

 

Aramis groans, decides he doesn't want to open his eyes and instead gropes in the dark until he catches Porthos' arm.

 

“Okay.”

 

“I'll see you later?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Go back to sleep, 'mis.”

 

“I will.”

 

His mumble turns into a pleased sound at Porthos' lips on his mouth. Aramis stretches in bed, smiles dreamily. Porthos draws the comforter on them both, the boy half lost under it and hidden by Aramis' arms around him. He wonders which one of them drifts back to sleep the fastest. There isn't a sound coming from the bedroom by the time he has closed the door behind him.

 

Sounds come much later, a couple of hours after Porthos has gone to work. Mati kicking the heavy duvet to the foot of the bed, rolling around, sitting up and then falling backwards just to hear the whooshing sound that it makes. If he goes faster, harder, he can bounce back on the mattress. He isn't strong enough to make his father move, but it wakes him up anyway. That and the sunshine straight on his face.

 

Mati's hair is as wild as his when he realizes they are both awake. Aramis stifles a grunt at how the child launches himself at him for a hug, small feet hitting his shins.

 

“ _Good morning, champion!”_

 

“ _I slept in the fort!”_

 

“ _I know. I saw you last night. Did you have fun with Mamá?”_

 

“ _Yes!”_

 

Mati nods so fast Aramis wonders how it cannot hurt. He pushes his hair back in his ponytail, yawns and stretches his arms high toward the ceiling, listening to all that his son did with Anne the previous evening. At one point in the tale, Mati scrambles down the bed, dashes out of the room and comes back with the paper figures they created. The ones which look exactly like the characters in that cartoon he loves immensily. Anne is so talented when it comes to crafts, and yet, he praises the one that Mati must have colored and assembled alone. Because for all the awkward cutting and glueing, it is spectacular.

 

“ _And I had hot chocolate and we looked at the stars!”_

 

“ _Wow! That much?”_

 

“ _Yes!”_

 

It drags on while Aramis makes breakfast, the boy so awake so fast, yet a little less so when he is reminded that at one point during the morning, he'll have to help take the fort down. But just like he is his father's second to put away the clean dishes, Mati isn't alone to clear the table and bring everything back to his bedroom.

 

Aramis is impressed with his own actions, the breakfast dishes washed so quickly. He was never one for that, plates stacking up in his sink until doing the dishes was long overdue. It's one of the most vivid things he remembers about living with Anne. Her constantly asking him to wash them. To do it right away. Because they lived with a baby so they had to be responsible adults and they couldn't leave their kitchen in such a state of disarray. The same complaints Porthos voiced less fiercely as soon as they started living together. And somewhere along the way, a year and a few months later, Aramis can finally make them both proud.

 

Mati giggles while Aramis folds the sheets. He's trying to help, listening to his father's instructions, laughing at the jokes and the funny faces. Aramis loves Saturday mornings. He would love it more if Porthos could be with them, or Anne for that matter. She's almost all he can think about, amazed by how smooth and evident their conversation was the night before. It's giving him perhaps more energy to go through the day. It's certainly giving him hope for their family and their general happiness.

 

“Mati, come here for a sec',” Aramis requests later when it's closer to lunch time, that their living room once again looks like one, that it's relatively quiet while the boy plays with his paper figures. They're not likely to last very long given how rough he is with them. He clutches one in his fist as he walks. He's heavy when Aramis pulls him up on his lap. One arm over his waist to keep him on the couch with him.

 

“You remember that we cannot go swimming today, don't you?”

 

“Yes.” Mati pouts nonetheless. He's been liking the pool and how his father swims with him. It helps with the constant sting in Aramis' ankle and the child is always so delighted to go. He likes the water, exactly like Aramis does, so even if the pool is indoors, it doesn't matter. “But I like the pool, Papá.”

 

“I know. I do, too. We'll go there twice when you'll stay here next, all right?” Not exactly charmed by this prospect because it sounds like this marvelous time will take years and years to arrive, Mati nods timidly. Aramis hugs him. “I told you we were going somewhere else, though, didn't I? We're going to a place where you can play with other children.”

 

“At school?” It's a shrill in Aramis' ear, his son stupefied that he should go to that place during the weekend. It would be funny if Aramis hadn't lost some of his hearing. Mati slides down from his lap to sit by his side on the couch, his arms folded across his chest. “I don't want to.”

 

“We're not going to school. We're going to the place where Porthos grew up.”

 

“I know it! To play with his dad?” This is suddenly much more attractive and there's no trace of discomfort anymore on the little face. It's been replaced by an eager smile. Aramis makes him stop banging his feet against the couch.

 

“We're not going to Tréville's house. We're going where Porthos lived when he was a child. About your age, up until Tréville found him.”

 

Mati frowns at the explanation, too much information for his brain. He's been told about Porthos' family -or lack of- when he was younger, but for someone as small as the boy, it's no wonder it's still a mystery. He must have forgotten most of what he'd been told in the fall.

 

“Porthos didn't have a Papá or a Mamá like you do. He had no one when he was a boy and he had to live in a home with other children like him.”

 

“But Tréville is his dad.”

 

“Yes, he is. He found Porthos when Porthos was older and that's when he became his father. Because he chose to let Porthos become his family. But he's not his natural father. Do you understand?”

 

Obviously not, or not everything. It's perhaps too much for his son, yet Aramis keeps on trying. Because Mati is smart and he can make sense of it if he's explained things the right way.

 

“You have Mamá and you have me, don't you, Mati? We're your mother and your father. But who else do you also have? Who else lives with us?”

 

“....Porfos?”

 

“Absolutely. But Porthos isn't your natural father, is he?”

 

“It's you?”

 

“You're getting it.” Aramis smiles. “Tréville is to Porthos what Porthos is to you. A dad even if he didn't make Porthos.”

 

“You made me, Papá.”

 

“I did. And you didn't have Porthos when you were a baby, did you?”

 

“Nope. But I love him! He's just like you or Mamá. We can play and he makes big voices. And he gives me hugs.”

 

“Isn't that great?”

 

“Yes! And sometimes he scolds me.” Mati scrunches his nose, clearly not happy with this aspect of their relationship. For Aramis it's quite the opposite. It means that his boyfriend is so comfortable in his role that he doesn't think twice about doing what any parent would do. He doesn't need Aramis' approval to do what he deems best for the child.

 

It's so natural for them, for the child to not see Porthos as only a friend or his father's boyfriend like it was when they first met. He doesn't even object to him being called his dad, because it's exactly the way Mati apparently refers to him. He has never used that particular word to address Porthos directly, but simply knowing that he does with others, with his friends and their parents, it fills Aramis' heart with pride and joy. For his son and for his stepfather.

 

“It was the same for Porthos, you see. Tréville wasn't here from the beginning. Porthos didn't have a father when he was a baby and his mother went to Heaven when he was a little boy. So before Tréville found him and became his dad, he had to live someplace else with people to take care of him.”

 

“And the other children?”

 

“Exactly. That's where he met Flea and Charon.”

 

“She works with animals!” It's perhaps the most important piece of information regarding Flea which has stuck with Mati. It's a dream job, to see dogs and cats everyday. And turtles and birds. She has so many pictures on her phone that she is excited to share with the child whenever she sees him. Aramis suspects that she is taking more than she used to simply to make Mati squeal.

 

Aramis can't help but smile again.

 

“They grew up in this house together. And then Tréville came and brought Porthos to his home and he became his dad. He loves him very much, as much as we do and it's what you need to know. That he didn't have to make Porthos to love him like his own child.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“We're going to spend a few hours in Porthos' first home and say hello to the people who lived with him.”

 

“And play?” Mati hasn't forgotten this aspect of their afternoon.

 

“Yes. With boys and girls who aren't lucky enough to have their mother and their father.”

 

Mati takes a second to reflect on this, puzzlement in his eyes.

 

“That's sad, Papá.”

 

“It is, sweetie. But we're going to play and bring them sweets and we'll make them happy for a while. Agreed?”

 

Mati nods, snuggles closer to his father, rubs his face against his tee-shirt.

 

“Papá?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I'm sad Porfos didn't have a Papá or a Mamá.”

 

“I know. I'm sad, too. But that was a long time ago. And now he has us. Mamá, you and I. And he has Tréville and his friends so it's all good in the end.”

 

“I'll give him a hug!”

 

“Please do, sweetie. I'm very proud of you, Mati.”

 

The boy beams up at him, unruly curls falling on his eyes. Such innocence on his face and yet so much love and cleverness. Aramis feels a little emotional from what should have just been an easy talk. Now that he is somewhat sure his son understands where they are going and who they are going to see, he can focus on more immediate matters like what to make for lunch, and thus avoid breaking down.

 

Which Aramis nevertheless does a little when Porthos eventually comes back from work, that it smells delicious in the appartment and that before he can even take off his jacket, Mati collides with his legs. He hugs him as tightly as he can, arms around his knees, clutching and not budging. It baffles Porthos in spite of what a nice welcome it is. It's rewarding to come back to this after long hours at the gym. Mati's bright smile and the loud kiss he gives his stepfather's cheek once he has reached down for him also are.

 

Mati is wiggling in his embrace, little feet kicking Porthos' back. Overwhelming but appreciated. It gets trickier to move once Aramis has come to his boyfriend, to hug and kiss him, too. Full on the lips, sweet and quiet, one hand on the back of Porthos' head.

 

“We love you,” Aramis declares before Porthos can ask what the spectacular display of affection is for. “We love you very much.”

 

He resumes hugging his boyfriend, Porthos at a loss of what to do except hug back. Mati's shallow breathing is tickling the freshly-washed skin of his neck and Aramis' lips are so soft against his ear, kissing down his jaw. They don't need to say more and it's all that matters to Porthos. He's so fortunate to have found them and to have them be so amazing with him. He feels emotional even before Aramis finally explains that he's told his son where they were going in the afternoon and why Porthos had to grow up there.

 

That a child as young as Mati would decide to make _him_ feel better for things which happened ages ago. That he would value him enough, think highly enough of him to decide on his own to show him just how important he is. Coming from Aramis it's everything that Porthos was hoping for out of a relationship. Coming from a boy who isn't even his by blood, he understands what Tréville must have felt when they signed the adoption papers and that finally, after long months of hard work, they could be a proper family. When Porthos could relax and trust him completely. When he could dare love the older man like a parent who wouldn't abandon him.

 

How it must have felt for Tréville to be hugged without warning by a teenager who used to eye him carefully and prepare for betrayal but who then respected him and considered him like his only father. The only one worthy of the title.

 

How it feels, to have Mati cling to his neck and his waist, to have a child in his arms. One that is his, because Porthos chose to include him in his life, even if he wasn't there from the start. An extention of Aramis that Porthos once had to accept if he wanted his relationship to flourish. Probably the best decision of his life, to sit in front of the laptop and greet the blond curls and his mother for the first time.

 

Porthos has to take a deep breath and shut his eyes for quite a long time to keep from breaking down. Aramis wouldn't mind. Mati might misinterpret it. And really, why would he cry if he is so happy? They are all incredible people.

 

Aramis with his hand clasped tight in Porthos' and Mati walking by his side on their way to the orphanage. Them and his dad, because Tréville was the first person Porthos told about wanting to visit the orphanage when he heard about Belgard's death. Which had led to his father suggesting that he came as well.

 

Tréville hasn't mentioned anything about it to his son, but Porthos has noticed it anyway. The smiling eyes he greets Mati with, the hug the boy gives him, right before he inquires about the large bag of sweets Tréville is carrying. A not-so-innocent question since he is offered some without even having to request them. Yes, Porthos is positive that his dad is loving the child and that he loves having him around. When they play in the park, when they huddle in Tréville's living room after dinner and he tells Mati stories of soldiers.

 

“What?” Tréville snaps, gruffly, when he finds Porthos staring at him, Mati unwrapping his treat with stars in his eyes.

 

“Nothing, Dad. Nothing. It's good to see you.” Porthos reaches to pat his back and there's a chuckle once they part, from both of them at the same time. Tréville shakes his head, shakes Aramis' hand and can't help smiling.

 

It's not the first time Aramis has come to the orphanage, but it's been almost a year since he visited and the bleak building always makes him uneasy. Not that he is afraid of anything, all the buildings in the neighborhood look the same. It's because of what he knows is behind the front door. Why its inhabitants are there and how unfair it is for them. How he wishes he could do more to help than come for a few hours.

 

It already means a lot to them, Porthos reassures him, squeezing his hand, leading a curious but shy Mati inside. He knows his way around, doesn't bother ringing the bell before letting himself in. He could find the front office with his eyes closed if he had to. Nothing has changed in the fifteen years or so he's been gone. It's comforting in its familiarity, how ever old everything seems to be getting. He'll give them that, they must have painted the walls in the corridor. They are not that depressing green color anymore. Yellow is better. Nice. More inviting. As inviting as an orphanage can be.

 

There are so few people coming to visit that the four of them at once are a big novelty. An incredible surprise for the small swarm of children surrounding them in the playroom. Most of them know Porthos who used to make a habit of being there for them. That was before he had a family of his own, and if he feels a bit guilty for having neglected them, none of them seems to resent him. Neither do the staff.

 

“That's Miss Elise,” he explains to Aramis. Mati is studying the room, the toys, the children looking back at him. He's clinging to his father's arm.

 

“I've been married for almost as long as I've known Porthos but I suppose I'll never lose that title.”

 

“Yeah, sorry. You're stuck with it.”

 

She's smaller than he is, her hair is greying, but her face is the same mask of kindness he remembers from sleepless nights and nightmares. She's fleshy in his arms, soft and reassuring and he's missed this.

 

“I'm so very happy to meet all of you.” Her voice sings around Aramis, jostling him from his quiet contemplation of his surroundings and trying to imagine Porthos in the room to meet the radiant smile and the hand she offers him to shake. “And who's that?”

 

“Mati, say hello.”

 

“.....Hello.”

 

“It's Miss Elise who used to read me stories when I was little,” Porthos says, finding inquiring little eyes looking up at him. The woman has crouched to take a closer look at the boy. “That's Mati. He's Aramis' son.”

 

Even though it's all that he says, she hears everything that it implies nonetheless. Porthos may be an adult, he was once one of her kids and it doesn't matter if it's been months since they haven't seen each other. She'll always be able to read him like a book. Just like she knows all the children who used to be in her care and all those who still are. Bless them.

 

So she hears the happiness and the pride behind Porthos' words. That this child is much more than his partner's son. She likes how Porthos looks fondly at Mati, how he gazes at Aramis urging the boy to go greet the other children. Because Mati has never been afraid of meeting new friends so today shouldn't be different. There is about a dozen of them, some older than him, some almost teenagers who don't really care for the six-year old child. But then again, they don't care for much, Miss Elise reassures her visitors after the two girls have grunted their hello at them.

 

Soon, Mati finds himself sitting on the carpet, toys scattered everywhere, watching the orphans his age -and those who are interested in his presence- explain the games they can play. He throws apprehensive glances at the adults, afraid as always that his parents would disappear and forget him.

 

They're not. They're sitting with their host, listening to her own tale of the hightlights of life at the orphanage. The children who were adopted, those who tried foster families. The few who came back, a story all to familiar to Porthos so Miss Elise doesn't dwell on it. The kids who were sick, those who started fights at school. The girl who was grounded and who had cowered under Miss Elise's furious roars after one of the staff had had to collect her from the principal's office because she had broken a boy's fingers.

 

This, Porthos finds rather funny. Not how she casts a dark look at him when he does laugh, but the way she tells it, frowning and slamming her hand down on the table as she remembers having to be stricter than she had ever been. Even when Porthos was a handful, and he knows he was, he cannot recall her ever losing her temper. With his friends, she's one of the few good memories he has about the place. Her and her husband. All the care and dedication they would bestow on children who weren't their own.

 

Aramis likes her at once, exactly like he liked her husband when he came last year. She's so affectionate with Porthos, eager to know more about his new life, asking for many details. It's all she can do to refrain from cooing at some of the things she's told. To learn about how her protégé behaves with Mati, what a remarkable stepfather he is. It's fortunate that nobody is looking at Tréville sipping on his coffee while Aramis is talking because they would have found him grinning and drinking his every word. He's so proud of Porthos. Aramis and his family have such an incredible and beneficial impact on him.

 

Miss Elise turns a little quieter as Porthos explains why they have chosen to visit today. Suddenly, his teaspoon becomes a lot more interesting and he's thankful for the soft fingers threading with his, for Aramis' leg touching his. If it wasn't for Belgard, Porthos wouldn't have met her. He wouldn't have met Flea or Charon. He wouldn't have met his dad. He wouldn't have met Aramis. He wouldn't have met Anne or Mati. What a terrible tragedy it would have been. He doesn't care for money or big mansions, or what his life with a sister could have been in the countryside.

 

At the end of it all, this is his life, these are the people close to him and now, after so long, he wouldn't have it any other way.

 

“We heard from our lawyers a few day ago as well. At first I didn't understand because it's not often we receive donations such as this one, but then I saw who it was coming from. Thank you, Porthos.”

 

He hasn't told her that he was the one who had requested for Belgard to leave money to them instead of houses he wanted to give Porthos. And yet somehow, she's understood on her own that the man wouldn't have thought of it by himself. It's a welcome hug that she gives him again. So many hugs today, but Porthos adores it. All of them. It's better to focus on the happy consequences of his biological father's death rather than to reflect on what the death itself makes him feel. Sadness has no place within these walls today.

 

There is already so much of it on a regular basis. Children enjoying their life because this specific orphanage is warm and almost familial and they are all loved and valued. But it's still sad. The few toys they have to share, the worn-out clothes they have to wear and how easy it is to spot Mati in the courtyard even when they are all running around. Because his shoes shine even if they aren't new per se and that his clothes fit him perfectly.

 

Porthos wonders if he would have been jealous of a child like his stepson coming to visit when he was younger. If he would have refused to play with him, to talk with him. He remembers being bitter about anyone who didn't live with him. He never had friends in the few schools he attended when he stayed with foster families. It would never last and they couldn't understand how difficult his life was. This is one of the worst memories Porthos has of his childhood. Being different and thinking that he wasn't worth trying to change that. He was only good for the orphanage and people like him.

 

The current orphans clearly do not share his point of view and he's glad for it.

 

In between two football matches in the courtyard, Porthos is fine standing by the side, Aramis in front of him, two strong arms around his waist, keeping him as close as possible to Porthos' chest. It's nice to watch the children play, to watch how they miss the ball, how they come hurtling to them to seek new adult players. They all have flushed cheeks and it's not long before there is a pile of jackets on a bench. It's a gorgeous spring day. It makes Porthos sigh with relief in his boyfriend's neck. He has happy memories there as well and the talk they are having with Miss Elise about what they will be able to do with the money is exceptional. Everybody is a little bit overwhelmed by it and there is so much to do that nothing seems impossible.

 

All the trips they'll be able to plan: to the seaside, to the mountains perhaps. Anywhere outside of Paris. Most of the little ones have never been able to leave the city and haven't even gone on a proper vacation. All the amusement parks where they could take them. The clothes they'll be able to buy. The new TV and the new computers for the older ones who need them for school. The shoes and the new showers they'll be able to renovate.

 

The building isn't dilapidated but you can see with a single glance that they aren't used to luxuries and that the strict minimum is often only what they get.

 

The dorms need refreshing. New beds, new mattresses. New posters so the children can finally make their rooms a little more theirs with objects that they enjoy and not solely with drawings. All the DVDs they can buy for their movie nights. Not too much because then they fight. So this hasn't changed, Porthos ponders out loud. Aramis chuckles in front of him, asks if Flea was always the winner. Porthos growls, hangs his head when the assumption is confirmed.

 

Then he laughs at his dad coming back to join them. He had been playing goalkeeper for the football team. There's only one, all of them trying to score, falling, tumbling on each other and it's a good thing it's mostly grass in the courtyard. But the children have moved on to play tag and clearly, Tréville isn't interested in that. So he planned an escape from the crowd by bribing them with all the sweets they have brought along.

 

He struggles to breathe and accepts the glass of water. Miss Elise tuts at the same time as she hands it to him and pulls a chair. She yells to remind her kids that they should not throw paper on the ground. Mati finds his father's eyes at that moment, shows him how he is putting his own in his pocket. And takes the thumbs ups from both Aramis and Porthos to mean that he is free to help himself to more candy.

 

“I suppose we'll also have money to pay dentist bills.”

 

Porthos laughs out loud, watches his dad struggle to come up with an excuse this time. Aramis laughs as well, presses closer to Porthos, holds the hands on his stomach. It's all over when Miss Elise laughs and requests for one of the girls to bring her some sweets as well.

 

For all the difficult times there might be in this building, Aramis is positive that she must make life as good as it can possibly be. He's glad Porthos had her growing up.

 

In the end, it's the adults who have to drag Mati out of the courtyard after what seems like the work-out of the year. He's panting around his grin, lips shining with all the sugar he's eaten. But relatively quieter after all this energy spent while Porthos gives him a tour of the house, a girl named Marie in his arms. It's an effortless thing for him, to have picked her up when she asked for it, to talk to her, to carry her.

 

A simple sight, full of love and adorable. It makes everything around them blur, it's as if Aramis' eyes are zooming in on his incredible boyfriend, a natural with children, regardless of how scared he used to be to have to take care of Mati. Gentle and caring with the girl, his eyes going from her to his stepson, involving them both, urging Marie to describe the place to her new friend, to show him her bed and where she keeps her clothes. Where she brushes her teeth, where she eats and where she keeps her school things. To show him her favorite book, to sit with her and Mati on the floor by her bed so they can read the story together.

 

Everybody else has stayed downstairs to watch TV and harass Tréville for more stories about his work. He's obviously well-known on the premises as well. Aramis is aware of nothing else but the three of them, Porthos and the two children. He leans against the doorframe, would like to close his eyes to let his boyfriend's deep voice soothe him. Only that it would deprive him of this great vision and he wants to remember it for the rest of his life.

 

Porthos with Mati always melts his heart. He should have known that Porthos with more than one child would turn his heart into a puddle of fuzzy feelings. It's not the same as being in Spain with his nephews because it's always so crazy in his parents' house for the holidays that Porthos couldn't have bonded with them.

 

Right there, in the orphanage, Aramis falls in love with Porthos all over again. And it's as powerful as it was the first time. As breathtaking and as earth-shattering. As easy and as comfortable.

 

It's beautiful and it fills his heart with calm.

 

It was always meant to be.

 

“She's cute,” he mentions casually when they go down the stairs, the two children already on the landing, in a hurry to join the others. His voice cracks with all the emotions seizing him. Porthos can only nod. The place has soothed him, his inhabitants even more. “How long has she been here?”

 

“Seven years, maybe?” Porthos hesitates, fingers playing with his beard, smoothing and thinking. “She was just a baby when she arrived, that much I remember. Because it was about the same time Belgard decided that he wanted to know me. And it wasn't such a good time for me in my life then. It made me question a lot of the existence I had started to build without any of my biological parents in it. So I was spending a lot of time here. It helped. I guess that's when we grew close. Maybe Miss Elise has pictures if you ask her.”

 

“I'd like that, yes.” Aramis anchors himself to his boyfriend. Porthos had never talked about Marie before, about any of the children at the orphanage. He had never shared stories about what he did when he visited. But Aramis never pressed for them either. What if it had ended in Porthos being sad and depressed? Perhaps he should ask to know more now. Perhaps Porthos would actually enjoy talking about it.

 

His boyfriend nods thoughtfully after Aramis has dared voice the idea. The orphanage is a big part of his life after all. Half of it if he thinks of it. Flea and Charon and Miss Elise, but also the little people he met when he was no longer an orphan. It's difficult to juggle between his life and the orphanage now, though, and he is doing a poor job of it so far. Much to his dismay. Porthos frowns and hangs his head a little. Aramis doesn't quite understand why, although he is certain it isn't because of his suggestion. So he presses on, eager to keep Porthos in the good mood he's been in since entering the building.

 

“Mati is loving it. The games and the tour you both gave us. It was a fantastic idea to have him accompany us.”

 

Aramis' words are comforting, like they always are. A small smile pulls at Porthos' lips, the memory still fresh in his mind. The boy snuggling with him, eyeing the new addition to his quiet intimacy with his stepfather. But Marie was looking at Porthos with such fascination, one that resembled Mati's and for that, the child couldn't be jealous for too long. It had done something to Porthos, to have them both by his side for a couple of minutes.

 

“I have a feeling he'll ask to come and play again soon,” Aramis adds. They have stopped in the middle of the stairs, desperate to delay the moment when they will have to join the others again.

 

“He's having a blast. I'm glad.”

 

“They all are. She was mesmerized by you. Marie. As were the others when you scored that ridiculous difficult goal earlier.” This does make Porthos chuckle, all the faces gaping at him, clapping and then urging him to do it again. But you cannot rush genius and Porthos didn't manage to score again during the game. “They must have missed you,” Aramis mentions. Porthos shrugs, not so sure about that.

 

“I'm only someone who comes and goes. They're happy when I'm here, sure. But I'm not that important.”

 

Aramis tugs on a sleeve, forces the other to face him completely. That shadow clouding Porthos' eyes is unacceptable. He may have to say it over and over again, Aramis will make it his life goal that his boyfriend understands that he _is_ important. That it's not because people abandoned him when he was little or that foster families rejected him, that he is useless. It only resurfaces in moments of doubt, when Porthos lets himself be weak and vulnerable. It happens just with so few people that Aramis is blessed to be able to comfort him.

 

“Of course you are. You are important, Porthos. To them. To us.”

 

Two hands come to cup Porthos' face. Tender. Cherishing what they are holding.

 

“You were amazing with her. With them. You're a natural.” Aramis presses his lips to Porthos, doesn't move. Simply stays there and lets them both savor the rare moment of intimacy in the crowded place. Porthos is gripping Aramis' shoulder, fingers digging into the skin even through the clothes. He feeds on the assurance of the words. “You're a good father.”

 

Porthos wobbles on his feet, brings his arm around Aramis' waist to steady himself.

 

That's all he needs to feel safe and then he's gone. It all comes crashing down on him.

 

The whole affair with Anne, how he felt lost and how this feeling was so quickly replaced by the euphoria and the doubt of what their new relationship could mean. How much he _wants_ it. How much it scares him, in spite of what he's been telling himself. He's scared he could mess it up, and yet his heart is screaming all its desire for this love.

 

What everyone has been saying about his parenting skills. How hard he had tried to bury that need and want for all these years because for some reason, he didn't believe himself worthy of it. Not after what his biological father did to him. What a stupendous job he has been doing with Mati. And Aramis is right, of course he is right. Porthos wants to love little ones like he wasn't loved, or hardly remembers it. He wants to give all of himself to others. And he can actually do it now. Freely. Without fearing anything. People love him for it. People praise him and show him how proud they are of him. For overcoming it all.

 

How the death of Belgard has affected him, how he has affected his entire existence from the moment Porthos could understand that he had been abandoned. How _hard_ he tried to work his way around it. How much it hurt. How much it still does. Because he may want to hate the man, the man is dead and Porthos may state loud and clear that he had no part in his life, some part of it has effectively ended. It's gone and it's never coming back. All the years they could have had if things had been different. How he could have been loved from the very moment he was born. How the man could have redeemed himself. How he did, in the end. At the very last moment.

 

Porthos cannot hate him for that. But it pains him, deep in his guts. So terribly.

 

How much he misses his mother. What he'd give to be able to be hugged by her, to be kissed. To have her sing him to sleep.

 

How tired he is from all of this in his mind, no matter how often he talks about it with Aramis. They share so much and yet it doesn't lessen the burden of puzzling feelings on his shoulders. How desperately he wants for his life to settle. It's so happy already, he is so thankful for all of them. What incredible luck to think that he could spend the rest of his life with them. That he could watch Mati grow and become a man. That he could love Aramis and Anne for long years. Forever.

 

This is all too much and it's too much at once and Porthos is choking on his sobs on Aramis' shoulder. He can't stop the tears, they come in a rush, they keep on streaming down his cheeks to drench his boyfriend's shirt.

 

It's sadness and confusion and joy at the same time. It's months and years of doubting himself being reduced to dust by his family and the people close to him. By children and by adults. He's yearned for so long for more than friends and now he has them all and just like he grips Aramis' shirt, he will never, ever let them go.

 

It's quiet in the stairs, a sharp contrast from the turmoil within Porthos. It's soothed by Aramis' sushing voice. No words. A steady flow of reassuring words and both of his hands rubbing Porthos' back. Fingers creeping up slowly, kneading the nape of his neck, running through his hair. Back and forth until after what seems like hours, Porthos' heartbeat calms down and stops hammering against Aramis' chest. And even then, they don't talk.

 

Porthos sniffs, feels awful for ruining Aramis' clothes. He knows his face must be bloated and his eyes red and he needs tissues. Aramis hands him one, takes the whole packet out of his pocket and gives it to his boyfriend. They share a small smile. Aramis doesn't look away from Porthos' face for the whole time he dries his cheeks, his eyes, his neck.

 

He knew. Aramis knew Porthos would break down at some point and realizing that sends a rush of new tears to Porthos' eyes. To have found someone as exceptional and intuitive.

 

Only this time, Porthos breathes out deeply so he doesn't cry more. Once, twice, three times. He still needs his firm grip on the other to avoid tumbling down the stairs. He feels weak on his legs. Aramis straightens him as well. His fingers are on Porthos' waist, grazing the stretch of skin just above his jeans.

 

He loves this man too much. And it's as powerful today in the orphanage that it was when he first fell in love with the student that Aramis once was. Even with his eyes closed, he's all that Porthos can see. He doesn't require anything else. If he's sad or he's down or he feels lost, he only needs to think about Aramis and he's at peace again.

 

Hopefully this will never change and every day of his life, he'll get to see that messy hair and that silly smile and these crinkling eyes and Porthos will feel mushy again.

 

“Okay. I'm good,” he decides in a rasp. His entire body is still shaking, but that'll get better.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

There's nothing else to ask. Nothing else to talk about. Aramis clutches Porthos' hand. Brings it to his mouth and kisses the knuckles. The breath of an _I love you_ on them.

 

Aramis isn't sorry he's made him cry. It needed to let out, one way or another. After all the strong demeanour Porthos has shown for the last week, all the news crashing on him and how cheerful he's tried and managed to be, if there was one person to catch him when it all became too much, it was Aramis. And he always intends to be there to support him.

 


	4. The Movies

As predicted, Mati is filling their conversation after leaving the orphanage with all the little details he remembers from his few hours there. Their departure was somewhat delayed by the return of Miss Elise's husband and the couple of kids he had taken to some doctor appointment. The child was displeased that after having been convinced to say goodbye to all his new friends, he now had to wait for Porthos to catch up with someone Aramis came to realize he viewed like a big brother. This was then followed by more hugging that Porthos had remembered Flea and Charon had asked him to give. All the more aggraviating Mati's impatience.

 

It's all good now. His discomfort and his whining forgotten to request to come back as soon as they can. It seems that he's forgotten the swimming pool they used to visit on Saturday afternoons in favor of the orphans and their toys and company. As an only child, the boy has always been drawn to more playmates and his father can only smile to see that their social background doesn't matter at lot. Just like Aramis assumed.

 

He gives Mati a rather vague answer of when their next visit might be. Everybody -at least the adults- had understood that Porthos wasn't his joyful old self when they had come down the stairs. His eyes were still red from crying, even though he'd been making tremendous efforts to smile and laugh, burying all of his confusing feelings under layers of happiness and cheerful animation. Nevertheless, Aramis doesn't want to have to make him think too much of the orphanage, which is anyway impossible because Mati has been listing everything that he's enjoyed about the place.

 

This, more than trying to avoid the topic or his past, appeases Porthos. There's genuine interest in Mati's ramblings and such strength in how he holds his stepfather's hand, probably a bit glad that he finally has Porthos all to himself at last. Aramis is fine trailing behind, nodding and humming to show that he is still listening to the list. There isn't any logic in the boy's retelling of the afternoon nor is there any link between how cool it must be to sleep in the same room as other children and his inquiry about what they are going to do next. The day is far from over.

 

Porthos turns around toward his boyfriend, finds Aramis shrugging helplessly. Mati has managed to find some more energy somewhere so there is no point suggesting to go home for a nap. And in spite of how many sweets he's eaten, the boy is already asking what time it is and what he'll have for his snack.

 

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” Tréville asks as well, talking over the child enumerating all the shops they are walking past and what they could buy him inside. So much sugar. Aramis glances at him, the older man's eyes set on Porthos' back, studying, making sure that his son is still all right.

 

“Not really. I was hoping he'd want to rest. I think Porthos does, too. Want to rest, that is,” he adds more quietly, even if there is no risk of being overheard. It's too incredibly noisy in the streets.

 

“I was thinking that if you didn't have anything in mind, we could go to the movies and then dinner. On me.”

 

“Movies?” Mati shrills, swirling to face them.

 

Neither Porthos nor Aramis have time to be confused since the child monopolizes the conversation and Tréville's attention. It's hard to say who is smiling more, Porthos' father perhaps a little more than he usually does. It's nice to spend time with Porthos' family, it's so new to think of Aramis and Mati as such, but it makes him happy. It's a nice change from how his solitary old life used to be. It may only be slightly more tiring, just like Porthos used to half-heartedly complain at the beginning. But Tréville wouldn't trade it for anything in the world now, so he's eager to please the boy even more, to divert Porthos' thoughts from the obviously sad ones he's been having.

 

“Would you like that?” Tréville asks Mati, ignoring Porthos and Aramis' surprised stares. The child nods so vigorously, forgets to ask his parents if it's all right. But one glance at how content Tréville looks once the decision is made and Porthos is aware he can't even try to reason with him. He would have never imagined that one day, his dad would be so smitten with a small boy. He has to shake his head. It's useless to try to hide the grin tugging at his lips.

 

“You don't have to, Dad. Really.”

 

“I haven't been to the movies in ages.”

 

“We're going to see a kid movie.”

 

“So? It's still the movies. I haven't had popcorn in years.”

 

“You don't have to pay for us all. It'll cost a fortune.” Porthos decides to compromise on something else. Or tries to. Tréville sounds as determined as when he talks business. Stubborn as he is, there'll be no reasoning him when he's set his mind on something.

 

“I don't want to hear anything about that. I'm happy to do it.”

 

“I know but....”

 

“I said I didn't want to hear anything about it or you'll stay stranded in the street while we go enjoy the film.”

 

“You wouldn't do that.”

 

“Should we wait and see?”

 

Porthos' only response is to bump his father's shoulder. Too lighthly to make him budge, yet enough to make him grunt. Tréville's smile is saying quite the opposite of his actions and his words. Secretly, Porthos is immensely thrilled by how the afternoon is developing. It's soothing to listen to Mati wonder what movie he'll get to see, his questions often interrupted by Aramis reminding him to say thank you to Tréville every once in a while. Aramis is a little embarassed to have to accept all these gifts without complaining. He's heard Porthos do it, which doesn't mean that he doesn't try as well.

 

“It'll be like an early birthday present,” Tréville replies, faced with the two boyfriends so determined to not accept his money without putting up a fight. And this, that Tréville remembers Mati's birthday being in a couple of weeks, warms Aramis' heart to such incredible levels that he is left speechless. He would almost hug Tréville if he didn't think that he would mortified for the rest of his life if he did so.

 

“Dinner's on us, then,” Porthos attemps once more. His dad's eyes throw such daggers at him that he almost cowers. Effectively takes a step back.

 

It was a lost fight from the very beginning, even if Porthos and Aramis cannot help but try to pay for their tickets when they are inside the movie theatre and that Mati has made his choice. The way Tréville glowers at them frightens a bit Aramis who decides that Tréville does indeed look beyond himself treating them and the child to an hour and a half of bright animated images. He gives up arguing that it's too much. He simply keeps on thanking him, on urging his son to do the same.

 

“Here, why don't you go buy some popcorn before we head in. But not too much or you won't eat anything when we go to the fast-food place,” Tréville suggests, handing a banknote with Mati who looks at it with wide eyes. He clutches it in his small fist, eyes darting to his father who can only cock his head. It's enough for Mati to say thank you for perhaps the tenth time in the last hour. Porthos rolls his eyes at his dad. He's never, ever in his life, seen Tréville eat in such restaurants, much less offer to go there.

 

“You're spoiling him,” Aramis dares say after Mati has dragged Porthos to the confection stand. He glances at Tréville, finds no annoyance at the words spoken.

 

“He seems happy enough that I am.”

 

“Well, I suppose that's what grandparents are for.”

 

It's difficult to say who is enjoying it the most. Mati who has made a beeline for the bathroom before indulging on some more sugar, or Porthos' father, watching the boy as intently as Aramis does. It's a pleasant feeling, to realize what a tremendous impact Mati has made on Tréville, too. As if he was drawn to the men in Porthos' family and that they couldn't help but love him almost instantly.

 

Tréville starts at Aramis' words, though, his hidden praise, and when he looks at his son's boyfriend, it's to find him eyeing him carefully, waiting to see what's next. It feels like a punch in his stomach, but not a bad one. It's miles away from how he believed his family life would develop, Porthos seemingly having no intention whatsoever to settle down. It's happened suddenly, him finding everything at once. After the first moment of surprise, of them both wondering how Porthos would handle it all, it seems that there was no reason to worry at all.

 

Mati is never calling anyone but Aramis Papá, and it's clear that this is a title he will never bestow upon anybody else. Porthos is always addressed by his first name, albeit mispronounced, but Aramis has a vague idea that although his son doesn't refer to his stepfather as his dad, he nonetheless puts all that it encompasses in that simple word. That _Porfos_ that Aramis knows Mati could pronounce right if he wanted to. He's heard the boy say it correctly once or twice while playing by himself -his toys often portray adventures that his parents are having- before frowning and correcting himself. Porthos will likely remain _Porfos_ for the the rest of his life, but it's a term of endearment, one which speaks volume and which means that they belong to the same family.

 

The boy has found a new grandfather through Porthos, and Tréville fights hard to not react too emotionally to hearing Aramis refer to him as such. It makes him glad he's included, that his son's relationship is going so great, in spite of all the difficulties it could have brought along. Porthos is remarkable with Mati, handing him the popcorn carefully, one hand still on the small shoulder while they make their way back to him and Aramis.

 

“Papá, hold it!”

 

“Please.”

 

“.....please. Me and Porfos are going there!”

 

“Movie isn't starting for 20 minutes,” Porthos explains, pointing to the arcade behind him. It'll keep Mati entertained for a while. “We're good!” He's quick to add, seeing his dad reach for his wallet again.

 

He really has to talk to him about showering the child with money like that. It's dizzying to find that Tréville could enjoy it so much and never think twice about pleasing Mati. But Porthos has discovered through Anne that spoiling her son or buying him anything that he requested never lead to good things and he's stopped doing it way faster than Aramis has. That's all his boyfriend did when Mati and his mother still lived in Spain and sometimes Aramis falls back into old habits. He is getting better, and Mati isn't at all happy when all three adults stand up against him and they don't buy him what he wanted.

 

“We have the change from the popcorn,” Porthos says, grabbing Mati's hand and diverting him away from the other adults. It's more than enough for him, to gaze at the bright flashing lights and to listen to his stepfather.

 

Aramis sits down on a bench, tries with all his might not to reach into the boy's popcorn. Whatever uneasy feeling he used to have when he first met Tréville, it's vanished since then. He's been welcomed into their life so fast. It's exhilirating and comfortable like it's never been with any of the partners he could have had in the past. Not that he had that many to whom he mattered enough so he would meet their parents. And his relationship with Anne's parents is so out of this world that he prefers not to think about it if he can avoid it.

 

“You're very good for him. The both of you,” Tréville mentions casually, sitting down as well. He's busy watching Porthos smile and laugh at whatever Mati is saying while he tugs on his hand to make him move forward. This is a carefree side of Porthos he had probably never seen before he started dating Aramis. He'll give anything to always keep his son in this state of mind.

 

“Thank you. We try.”

 

“I wanted to distract him, too.”

 

“I know.”

 

Tréville has no idea what they talked about in the orphanage before Porthos joined them looking like he's cried his eyes out. He won't ask, sure that it was nothing dramatic or too upsetting or the boyfriends wouldn't behave as they are. Grateful that his son has found someone like Aramis to trust and confide in. Someone who has brought so much joy in Porthos' life. Someone else who is also making him see that life is worth living and that the circumstances of your birth don't matter. They don't preclude your mental well-being or your success in life.

 

“I never thought that's something I'd get to do. To take a child here with Porthos.”

 

“Life works in mysterious ways, does it not?”

 

Tréville can only hum in agreement. If he could, Aramis would spend hours on the side, watching his son play and laugh with Porthos. It's such a beautiful and natural sight to behold. It makes him feel calm and makes him positive that in the end, his boyfriend will be as fine as he can possibly be.

 

“He's a handful, though. Isn't he?” An afternoon with Mati is the most Tréville has ever spent with the boy and he isn't alone to do so. It's already exhausting to watch him bounce all over the place and his sentences are so often punctuated with squeals and screams that it's easy to find him in the crowd. “I'm impressed that you can handle this much energy every day.”

 

“We don't.”

 

Which is certainly how Aramis and Porthos survive and don't lose their temper too often. Mati-free weeks are a blessing, even though they love him. Long quiet evenings to breathe and make the world once again revolve around just the two of them. These are much needed moments.

 

“As charming as he is, I don't think I could do it. Now or then.”

 

Being a grandparents is a role Tréville can accept quite easily when he thinks of it, how ever startling it is to be one. It's easier than it was for him to assume the role of a father when Porthos was a teenager. But to take care of a child as small as Mati? He couldn't picture himself doing it. It's much better that it's been handed to his son. Porthos is doing a more marvelous job than they would have imagined.

 

“Why....why did you choose Porthos?”

 

It's bad wording, Aramis stumbling on his question, hesitating, aware that it may not be appropriate for the setting, that it may not be his place to ask. Porthos never dwelt upon that for more than the basics. Going to the orphanage must have triggered Aramis' curiosity whereas had had never really bothered to inquire in the past. For him, it was good enough to know that Tréville did pull Porthos away from a parentless life. They have some time to themselves right now, though and he's somewhat comfortable enough in Tréville's company to feel like it wouldn't cause an outrage to ask.

 

It doesn't. Tréville stares at him with piercing icy-blue eyes, studying him frowning and trying to rephrase the question.

 

“I mean...I know it's not a catalogue or anything, but....why him? How did you....decide?”

 

It's not better than his first attempt and Aramis might have wanted to drop the suggest before embarrassing himself further. Except that Tréville reclines on the bench, fixes his eyes on Porthos and the little boy jumping in his arms, and thinks.

 

“I wasn't even looking to foster children. At the beginning it was only that. I was leaving work one day and there were these kids by the river. They might have been here every day and I had never paid them any mind. Except that day, one of them had been injured. I can't remember whom and I can't remember how. It wasn't Porthos, or Flea or Charon. I don't even think they were there that day. Porthos was. This I recall.”

 

Tréville chuckles at the memory, even if back then, fifteen or so years ago, there was nothing funny about it. Aramis shifts on his seat, drinking his every word, trying to imagine how his boyfriend must have looked like.

 

“It was a nasty injury. They were playing with skateboards or something. Dangerous toys to use close to stairs and water. It was after Christmas, in January. Maybe they were Christmas gifts. I don't think Elise gave them prone-to-cause-accident toys after that year.”

 

Another chuckle and Tréville smiles a little. Aramis steals some of Mati's popcorn. Porthos on a skateboard? This sounds like quite a normal childhood, in spite of where he lived and who was missing from his life.

 

“I was with a colleague and we called an ambulance. You should have seen how desperate they were not to go to the hospital. As if their parents would ground them for causing that much trouble. Now I know that wasn't the case, but I suppose, and Porthos did say I was right in my assumption, that they've always been fearful of strangers and of official places like this. Because then, once they were over there, everybody would be aware of where they lived and why and he, for one, couldn't handle their sympathy. You have no idea how long it took _me_ to make him understand that I wasn't offering him a different life because I was pitying him.”

 

On the contrary, Aramis has a fair idea. It's one of the few things he's been told about Porthos' early life with Tréville.

 

“Anyway, we called the ambulance and then of course, I asked their parents' number, to let them know what was happening. I may have forgotten the details of that specific hour, there is one thing that will always stay with me. The murdering look Porthos threw me, as if he wanted to spit on me. As if he hated me even if I was a complete stranger. I was still in my uniform, it may have helped him dislike me more. Stabbing eyes. _We don't have any of those,_ he'd said _._ ”

 

Closing his eyes, Tréville can clearly recall Porthos' face and the frosty words when they were said. He also remembers being taken aback a little, until the injured boy gave him the phone number from the orphanage so they could call the staff.

 

“I waited with Porthos after the ambulance was gone. They didn't want him on board. A very awkward half hour, if you must know. Porthos sat next to me the entire time and he wouldn't say a word, not that I didn't try engaging the discussion and no matter how many times I apologized for mentioning his parents. I suppose this only made it worse, if his grunts were any indication. I don't even remember him saying goodbye when Elise's husband came to collect him.”

 

Tréville was a lot younger back then, in his mid-thirties and he had no clue what to do or say to the sullen teenager who seemed to have decided that he should be despised from one look and one faux-pas. It would have been enough to deter anybody else. Tréville had seen how caring Porthos had been with his friend, though, reassuring him and trying to soften the obvious pain the boy was in. It was a sharp contrast from how he behaved with the adults he didn't know.

 

“It may have been an unfortunate accident for his friend, I couldn't stop thinking that it was unfair for them both to grow up in an orphanage. I mean, it still is, for all the children back there. But at the time, I had never really thought about it.”

 

“I didn't either, to be honest. Not before Porthos mentioned where he used to live.”

 

“It's like society wants you to look away, isn't it? But once you've seen it, it's hard not to constantly have it invade your thoughts. You may not, because you already have your son, but I had no one. I've always lived in the house you know and it's big. It was gigantic and cold living there by myself. Somehow, it made it all the more difficult to ignore those two boys. So I went to the orphanage, wishing to inquire about the injured one and curious to learn more about the one who had been so rude.”

 

“You didn't go for the easiest one.”

 

“That's absolutely true. But I had never considered fostering anyone before either. The idea wouldn't even have crossed my mind. There was something of a challenge in Porthos, I guess. Always so bitter and ready to burst at any given moment. He wouldn't talk to me even when I sat by his side in the orphanage. How many times I must have greeted him, even using the name I had learned from Elise after my appointment with her. There was something stirring after having been told Porthos' life story which I suppose made me keep my calm even while being ignored so thoroughfully. It wasn't even as if he was listening to music or playing on his phone. We didn't have any of these back then. He was just sitting on the stairs, refusing to ackowledge me. One day I'm sure Mati will do the same to you and you'll remember today and our talk.”

 

Tréville gives a little laugh at how offended Aramis looks, obviously displeased with the idea. Mati is so exceptional as a child that he refuses to imagine that it could one day change. Even if it has to. Porthos seemed so sombre as a teenager and Aramis doesn't remember having made this period of his life comfortable for his parents. He should ask Anne how she was, and hope that their son will take after his mother.

 

“At one point he must have realized he wouldn't get rid of me and even after he did say hello -or snarled it more like, that's how he talked to me for the first weeks. And if he said more than ten words a day, I considered myself lucky. Anyway, even after he did greet me, I was the one who talked. He didn't seem that much interested, and for a long time I wondered if he had actually been listening. He told me he was much later, when he was more comfortable around me. What made him perk his head was me asking him if he would like to come and live with me. Apparently, nobody had asked him before. If the system wanted to give him a foster family, he had to accept it and go. It had never been his choice to go or stay at the orphanage. I have no idea what led him to say yes, but I was describing the house, talking about myself, explaining where he would go to school and so forth. It's only after the papers were signed and he was really in my house that I began to be nervous. It didn't feel real before then. Even while I was researching schools or buying furniture for his room.”

 

“But in the end, you changed his life.”

 

“Yes. It wasn't easy and there were times I did expect he would leave and never return, not even to the orphanage. Sometimes, I look at him and I can't quite believe we didn't mess up.”

 

Aramis isn't sure what exactly it was that he expected from Tréville's tale. He's silent for a while, out of questions and no desire to ask some if he had any. There were people who once had to deal with an angry Porthos, a character that Aramis hardly knows. Besides, when Porthos does get angry these days, it's probably nothing compared to how he could be growing up. It would sadden him further to think of his boyfriend as someone who hated the whole world, and yet Aramis decides that he's been sad enough lately. That it's a part of Porthos' life, somehow a part of his as well, but it's the past. It's helped Porthos grow and become a better man and for this, Aramis can only be thankful. Especially since they are still growing, both of them. Every day of their life together.

 

The discussion has made Tréville thirsty and perhaps a little emotional. That's not a sight he wishes to give Aramis, regardless of how significant it was that the man asked for this particular story. Tréville is returning with his drink, his pace steadier, having regained his composure, at the same as Mati and Porthos return from the arcade.

 

Unaware of the reason why it happens, Porthos lets Aramis hug him closely, Mati pouting a little that he is been neglected, even for less than a minute. It's an adorable thing to witness, to watch him hover and tug on a sleeve, only to be directed to his forgotten popcorn. When he has it in hand, he wanders toward Tréville, studies him with his flushed cheeks and his sparkling eyes. Mati likes the older man, for all the things he buys him, for the football and the swings close to his house, for how he always gets to drink Coca-Cola when they visit. Tréville cannot stomach the drink, and he knows he isn't fooling anyone when the men find that there is always a bottle over there.

 

Mati asks if there's some in the cup Tréville is currently sipping from. He's lost any trace of shyness when he decided that Porthos' father was fun and could run very fast. The fact that it can only happen for a handful of minutes is irrelevant. He pouts a little, scrunching his nose when he's told that no, it isn't Coca-Cola. Only to hurry behind Tréville who offers to buy him some.

 

It may have been easier to adopt someone smaller than Porthos. More time to adjust and learn to know one another. However, Tréville cannot think of anything more gratifying than to make a difference in the life of someone who believed the entire world had given up on him. He hasn't regretted his decision once. And he knows that Porthos hasn't either.

 

For the time being, he's safe in Aramis' arms, messy curls on his face, but he won't budge. He loves his boyfriend, loves the affection after a complicated afternoon and a complicated couple of days. Porthos will take all of it, be it in the middle of a movie theatre.

 

“Your dad told me how you met,” Aramis confesses in a whisper. Porthos' hands loosen their grip on his shoulders for a mere second until he decides that it's okay. That he shouldn't be annoyed Aramis asked Tréville and not him. For all he knows, it may have made him even more emotional. He has no intention of crying in such a crowded place.

 

“I was a bit of a jerk to him.”

 

“You were a teenager. Everybody more or less is at that age. I'm glad he found you.”

 

“Yeah, I'm glad, too.”

 

If he admits it, Aramis is also feeling all emotional from what he saw at the orphanage, Porthos and the children, and from what Tréville told him. He should have realized it would have such an effect. So he may give Porthos comfort for what happened years and years ago, he is also seeking some for what he has learned today.

 

Porthos kisses his temple sweetly. Aramis sighs at the soothing gesture. If he could, he would spend the rest of the day flushed against his boyfriend, just the two of them. Which is unfortunately impossible, although Mati is greatly distracted by Tréville and his never-ending attention. Aramis gets to sit next to Porthos when they are inside the movie theatre. Nowhere near his son who has demanded to be seated between Porthos and Tréville. Porthos doesn't comment on it, simply grins widely at his dad and earns himself a stern look.

 

The same thing happens at the restaurant, Mati elated from the movie and the animals whose story he's watched. Sitting in their booth, nestled against his stepfather while Tréville and Aramis sit on the other side of the table, Mati spends their entire meal explaining what happened on the screen. As if the adults hadn't seen it as well. But from the little boy's perspective, it's like they hadn't seen the same story. It's funny and incredibly cute. There are squeals and loud noises, Mati barely taking the time to chew and swallow to carry on. Aramis watches him intently, scared that the child might end up choking on his fries.

 

Nothing of the sort happens. His animated tale simply tires Mati to such extent that he is almost sleeping on the table by the time the waiter comes to see if they would like some dessert.

 

“So, he does run out of energy at some point,” Tréville remarks, feeling tired, too. It's been a long day. He's relieved Porthos doesn't look upset anymore.

 

“Thank goodness he does.” Porthos has scooped Mati up in his arms after they've given up trying to make him walk. And they've also given up trying to make Tréville stop spending money on them. It's a lost cause.

 

His only desire is also to be home with Aramis now. Finally alone.

 

Mati hardly whines while his father put him in his pjs and tucks him in. There are only Spanish mumbles when the boy is safe under the soft comforter and that half of his face has disappeared underneath it. Aramis has so many wonderful things to tell Anne about their son and what Mati did today. She'll be as proud as him as he is. And Porthos will likely love to tell her how his dad is behaving with a child. A new family opening up to Mati. More people captivated by him. Sweet smiles and attitudes that people cannot resist.

 

“That was some kind of a day,” Porthos remarks after Aramis has closed their bedroom door behind him. He's sitting on the side of the bed in his underwear, his clothes oddly discarded by his feet. He's clutching an old tee-shirt, unable to make up his mind whether he should put it on or not. He rubs at his eyes, watches as Aramis stretches, takes off his shirt in one swift movement. It lands on top of the pile that Porthos would usually be quick to fold. Not tonight. It doesn't matter tonight.

 

“In a good way, I hope.”

 

“I guess. I had a great time at the orphanage.”

 

“I did, too.”

 

Aramis has climbed on the bed, shuffling right behind Porthos. His back heaves a little against Aramis' chest and he shivers at the hands rubbing his shoulders, kneading the tense muscles in them. Moving slowly to his back and Aramis' palms are so warm, loving and careful in their care that Porthos cannot help but close his eyes and let his head drop on his boyfriend's chest.

 

“They all appreciated you so much,” Aramis goes on. “It's like, wherever you go, whatever you do, you make people love you. And you don't get to contradict me on that tonight.”

 

It's a strict order that Porthos has to obey, followed by a soft kiss on his grinning cheek. Aramis' massage is soothing in the following silence. He's humming some tune which relaxes Porthos more. His eyes are closed now, and if he does open his mouth, it's to moan at the fingers running through his hair. Aramis' fingernails graze his scalp, go lower to the nape of Porthos' neck and then back up. A ryhthm much welcome to lull anyone to sleep.

 

Lips kiss Porthos' shoulder. Short kisses and once in a while, the hint of a tongue. Aramis' hands are burning up on the smooth skin of Porthos' muscles as he traces them like he's done a hundred times in the past. He listens to his boyfriend coming loose underneath them, letting go completely so that Aramis can take care of him. He lets his fingers glide lower along Porthos' spine. His nails rake skin a bit.

 

“I love you so very much,” Aramis whispers in a listening ear. Porthos shifts closer to him until they are so flushed together that every time his heart beats, his boyfriend feels it in his bones. Aramis kisses the tender skin under Porthos' ear, his mouth trails down his cheek and then it finds his boyfriend's after Porthos has turned his head.

 

Porthos' tongue pushes so hard and fast that Aramis struggles for air for a second. It doesn't make Porthos stop and he groans after the other has registered the type of kissing needed and that he is retaliating. Porthos doesn't care if it's too much or if it makes him choke. He wants to be kissed and loved in a way that will make forget the past days. In a way he knows that Aramis can provide without even being asked.

 

Aramis' hands are still busy, having a mind of their own as they rub Porthos' chest. So completely and perfectly that Porthos groans a couple of times, bites his boyfriend's lip without meaning to. Then he does it again, on purpose, because Aramis has drawn a heavy gasp at the touch. Aramis pinches a nipple and the other, soothes the sting with another thorough caress, intoxicated by Porthos' smell and how he moves against him, how his own nipples harden at the strong back rubbing against them.

 

Porthos swears out loud, swears more quietly because there's no need to wake anyone else, and hisses, breaking the kiss to stare into Aramis' lusting eyes. There are fingers roaming on his stomach, lower and lower with each pass. Porthos feels like his entire body is coming alive and bursting into sweet flames under Aramis' care. It's a wonderful sensation, his flesh tingling even after Aramis has moved on someplace else.

 

“God, fuck!” Aramis' hand is splayed on his boyfriend' crotch, touching the hard-on still in Porthos' underwear. Being touched like Aramis is caressing him awakened more than the skin which was effectively touched. It's turned Porthos on faster than he'd care to admit. Aramis takes great pride in it, the pad of his fingers putting light pressure of the length of Porthos' cock, rubbing up and down even through the fabric of the briefs.

 

Porthos is all but lying down on his boyfriend, pliant in his arms, one arm slung up to keep Aramis' mouth on his and the other coming to help Aramis touch him. Threaded fingers dip under the waistline of his underwear until they are completely gone and Porthos steps out of them. His cock is so hard already, relishing in Aramis' hot hand on it. Porthos won't let go of Aramis, loves how it feels to touch himself and have his boyfriend do it at the same time.

 

He could probably come just from that, knowing all the pent-up energy behind their actions, all the feelings they've had to deal with and keep in control. It's too good to be safe in Aramis' arms, to be safe under his ministrations, to have his tongue so deep down Porthos' throat.

 

To have it circle one nipple with such greed after Aramis has let Porthos lie down completely on the bed and has come to kneel by his side. He's still pulling on his boyfriend's cock, allowing Porthos to guide him because this is about making _him_ feel good. Aramis is just happy to deliver. He licks Porthos' other nipple, sucks on it so fast that it makes Porthos's head reel back. His thumb sweeps on the cockhead, Porthos swears some more and his other hand lands on Aramis' ass, already pulling his underwear down.

 

Aramis gasps at the rough pressure on his bare skin, only to shudder and whimper for more. Porthos' fingers are busy, already fondling his boyfriend's hole, moving perhaps carelessly, except that he hears no complaints. Only more moans and Aramis bites down on his chest, right under his left nipple. He watches the wet mark turn red on Porthos' skin, jerks a little at how hard he is and at the delicious pain of Porthos' finger probbing.

 

“Hold that thought.”

 

Aramis scrambles out of his underwear, gives Porthos one sloppy kiss straight on the mouth, pushes him strongly against the mattress and climbs on top of him. Naked body on top of sweaty body. Hard cocks first only brushing while they adjust, and then crashing together. Porthos sees stars all around Aramis' head before he dives down for another kiss.

 

It feels urgent and desperate to grind against one another like they are doing. It's been too long and they've waited to be somewhat more comfortable after Anne and now that they can be together like that, that they can have all the time in the world and that they need to let go of the terrible thoughts and events which happened in their life lately, it's all going too fast. They cannot help themselves.

 

Porthos wants to lose himself in Aramis, the pretty noises that he makes against his skin and the way he moves above him. It's suffocating to feel his cock so hard and hot against his own, to have them rub in such a careless fashion. No pattern, no real rhythm. Only want and lust and the desire to crush Aramis in his arms, to have his head filled with sparks of pleasure. Porthos growls, low in his throat, hands splayed on Aramis' hips, grabbing so firmly it has to hurt. No restraint once there is no disapproving sound from Aramis. He once again adjusts to whatever pace pleases Porthos, buries his head in the crock of his boyfriend's neck and lets Porthos guide them.

 

“I wouldn't mind you....resuming your first thought,” Aramis does suggest in a rasp. It's half muffled in the other's beard. He misses Porthos' lips in their wild movements, his mouth landing soundly on a cheek instead. He hears the chuckle close to his ear, followed by how his ass is smacked playfully.

 

“You're greedy.”

 

“What if I am?”

 

“I'll show you what.”

 

Aramis has to move on his own, there are no more hands holding his hips down. One of them creeps up his back to come and settle on his head, clutching hair as strongly as it can. It makes Aramis jerk his head back to stare into Porthos' eyes. Never looking away as one slick finger plays with his hole, teases until Aramis cannot take it anymore. It's too much thinking of what Porthos will do, everything that he wants him to do to him. Imagining it, having his boyfriend touch him like that and moving erratically on top of him, it's too much and yet not enough. Porthos smirks at Aramis' pleading tone.

 

“Please....Porthos....”

 

“Please what?”

 

“Get on with it.”

 

“With what?”

 

Surprisingly, Aramis finds enough sanity left to glare at his boyfriend as he stops moving for a couple of seconds. Both of their cocks twitch at the respite. Aramis wiggles on top of Porthos, pushes down again against him, lick from one nipple to Porthos' neck. One long trail which makes his boyfriend's breath itch. And again when Aramis licks back to the nipple, sucks and laps at it.

 

“Fuck me.”

 

Porthos can't help but snort at the direct order, all the while still shivering from Aramis' caresses and wishing more than anything that his boyfriend would resume moving. Which he does, a small smile on his lips as they kiss Porthos' collarbone and he gasps more than once at the fingers finally inside of him. It hurts but that's good and Aramis always wants more. It's tight and it's warm and it's Aramis and it feels incredibly good to Porthos. Enough that he indulges any of the requests made.

 

He pushes deep inside Aramis' ass, curls his fingers, tries to match how fast his boyfriend is rutting against him. Their cocks leaking and pulsing, Aramis almost totally sprawled on top of him. He's spread his legs even more on either side of Portho's lap, he's dropped his head on the bed, close to Porthos' head. There's still one strong hand playing with his hair, tugging and grasping. Fuzzy sensations trickling down Aramis' neck straight to his cock.

 

Porthos is overwhelmed, by Aramis' excellent bulk on him, on how he feels around his fingers, how he cannot stop moaning and pushing against him. How their cocks feel against his stomach. How Aramis' fingers reappear to glide down his side. Tantalizing slow, reawakening his scorching skin. It smells so much like sweat and sex in the room that Porthos could feed on it.

 

He mouths at Aramis' hair, pulls hard to force him to face him. He could also feed on the irrestible look on his boyfriend's face. How much he is loving Porthos and what he is doing to him. How he hums and bites his lip everytime there is a change in rhythm. Without breaking eye contact, Aramis puts a couple of fingers in his mouth, lets his hand close on Porthos' sensitive cock. It jerks in his hand, while he feels his boyfriend's fingers slow for a second in his ass. Until he moves, cocks his head and Porthos comes back to the little senses he has left.

 

His cock is wet and Aramis' fingers glide effortlessly on it, pull and stroke fast. As fast as he is rutting against the bed from Porthos' ministrations.

 

Aramis comes with a shuddering shout that he almost manages to muffle against Porthos' chest. It still resonates around the bedroom but he cannot bring himself to care, or to slow down. There's come on his hand and it's smooth and sticky on his fingers and on Porthos' cock. It's dirty, but they're too far gone and Porthos has stilled inside of his boyfriend, mind and body captivated by what Aramis is doing to him.

 

His hand drops on the bed after Aramis has shuffled further down on the bed, has looked up at his boyfriend, has seen how his chest heaved with anticipation. He swallows the eager cock, licks around his own come, makes a pleased noise at this. His orgasm has given him a renewed spark of energy. Enough to make Porthos forget everything else but the hot mouth on him and the nails scrapping his balls.

 

Aramis makes obscene noises, sucks and licks along Porthos' cock, laps at the cockhead with such quick strokes that Porthos feels like his guts are going to burst with ecstasy. Aramis doesn't lose a bit, swallows every drop of Porthos' come once he lets his orgasm take over. He thrashes a bit under him, shudders violently, bites on his fist to keep the noise down.

 

His heart is hammering in his chest, but he has eyes only for Aramis' clever eyes and his glistening lips once he pulls himself up by his side. They're quiet for a while, Porthos's gaze focused on one of the dark locks stuck to his boyfriend's forehead. It's damp and it's curling right above Aramis' left eye and the closing eyelid. The eyelashes are spectacularly long. He watches the skin crinkle as Aramis smiles absent-mindedly, his hand sprawled on Porthos' chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily.

 

It's quiet and it's peaceful. Talking would seem absurd and meaningless while they hold hands and that Aramis pets Porthos' hair, tugs the short curls and looks transfixed as they bounce a little. There's been great awaited sex and it's relaxing and apart from their ragged breathing, there's nothing disturbing their tranquil space.

 

Until all of a suden, laughter bubbles inside of Porthos. From pure happiness. From being lucky enough to face anything with his terrific boyfriend. Aramis has no time to act surprised as he finds himself trapped in strong -if sweaty- arms.

 

“What....”

 

“I'm glad you're here with me, that's all. Kiss me.”

 

Aramis brightly obliges him, soon hears the sound of his own giggles mingling with Porthos'.

 

 


	5. The Phonecall

There's just too much going on on the couch with Aramis for him to stand up. The laptop and the books and the notebook which falls to the floor when its owner turns around. The pens scattered everywhere and the empty mug from which Aramis did manage to drink without spilling coffee everywhere. If that isn't a feat, then he doesn't know what is.

 

So Porthos has to make do with a brilliant smile to greet him after he's inside the appartment. But Aramis' face is such a glorious sight after work that it doesn't matter if he is the one who has to come and get a kiss. It's such a mess in the living room. Deep inside, Porthos is grateful Aramis doesn't work from home every day.

 

“I got you your stuff,” he mentions, holding up the plastic bag that he puts on the table. Aramis' crinkles practically illuminate his face.

 

“You're a darling,” Aramis purrs, beckons Porthos closer for a kiss, all the while shutting down the laptop, discarding it to the coffee table along with as much stationery as he can. He was an idiot for forgetting to go to the store while he was out in the city. He's blessed with a fantastic boyfriend, though.

 

One that he amply rewards once Porthos bends over him, kisses him once softly, then a second time and a third. Little kisses accompanied by Aramis' hand on the nape of his neck, rubbing. He's still smiling when Porthos pulls back.

 

“How long have you been home?”

 

“I don't know. A couple of hours? I finished early and I decided I would work better from here than from the publishing house.”

 

“Isn't that great? To be able to work wherever you want?”

 

“Dream job. But it'd be lonely if I were to always stay here by myself.”

 

“How was the museum?” Porthos asks, glancing at the leaflets and the huge stack of paper and new books Aramis seems to have acquired in the afternoon.

 

“Excellent exhibition and I kind of like that curator. She reminds me of Anne or how she could be when she'll be older. Always having something to tell about each exhibit, even the smallest one. And she kept on recommending that I read this and that and....”

 

“Hence the books.”

 

“Hence the books,” Aramis repeats, nodding.

 

Porthos chuckles, tucks one lone curl behind his boyfriend's ear. The finger lightly grazing his ear sends shivers down Aramis' spine. Porthos rounds the couch, comes to sit next to him and clears Aramis' lap from any remaining writing supplies. No one will work if he is around to enjoy their late afternoon. Aramis is reclining in his corner, bare feet on the soft cushions, pressed against Porthos' thigh now that he's straightened back after leaning to steal some more kisses.

 

“How was lunch?” Aramis asks, curious as ever. Porthos' hand is absent-mindedly running up and down his leg as he checks the books, half of them still wrapped.

 

“Lunch was good. What's that smell?”

 

“I'm making soup.”

 

Porthos makes a face, remembers too late to hide it, only to find Aramis smirking at him.

 

“With what?”

 

“Veggies. And noodles,” he adds. “Because I know my man.”

 

“I love you.” Porthos can't help wiping that smug little grin from his boyfriend's face. Aramis finds no complaint at being kissed so often. And Porthos has hardly been back for more than five minutes. This is exactly how all their evenings should unfold. It's cozy and it's adorable and fuzzy and he is loving every second of it.

 

“'Mis? You really were okay with that lunch, weren't you?” Porthos nonetheless has to ask. Aramis may have told him that it was when he called earlier in the day, that he should enjoy Anne's unexpected company, it'll make him feel better if he confirms it once more. They don't have any rules about seeing her when they are not the two of them together. It'll probably get better after their date but for the time being, Aramis' reassurance is what Porthos requires.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because it wasn't anything romantic or....I mean, Mati couldn't keep away for more than five minutes so....”

 

“Porthos. It's fine. I told you it was when you first texted me.”

 

He's sat up straighter, huddling closer to Porthos to rub his shoulder. One month ago, Aramis would have been extremely confused and perhaps a bit jealous that his boyfriend could have lunch alone with Anne. Just like he was when she came over for dinner while he was away at the festival. This had been hard on Aramis, to be so far and to know they were together with Mati and he couldn't join in. The rest of his evening that night had been wasted with thoughts of what the others could be talking about, what they could be doing.

 

Now, though, the three of them are on the same page. No more secrets or resentment and besides, Aramis has always been the one stating that Porthos should get to know Anne better, even before when they only considered her as a friend. If she can become more, it's only natural that they might want to learn more about the other without Aramis chiming in at any moment. Which he is fully aware that he would do.

 

Anne spends so much time at Porthos' gym, it would seem. It was really no surprise to hear that she had come by with Mati after school and that she hadn't had time to eat yet. Aramis would have certainly offered to eat with her if he had been in Porthos' shoes.

 

“If anything,” Aramis says, eager to calm his boyfriend. Not that Porthos is agitated, but they both know that don't want to hurt the other. “I should be upset that you get to see my son more than I do.”

 

“But you're not.”

 

“No, I'm not. I get more peace and quiet than you do.”

 

“Correct.”

 

“Really, sweetie, it's fine.” Aramis has moved on from rubbing Porthos' shoulders to rubbing his chest, slowly but steadily. Porthos has been losing his frown and Aramis will continue until it's completely gone. And even after. “You were being honest letting me know and that's what we need. I don't mind you having moments of your own as long as it isn't behind my back.”

 

“We wouldn't. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too. Did you have fun?”

 

“Yeah, I did.”

 

Porthos has taken off his shoes to sit awkwardly on the couch, facing Aramis who is almost sprawled on his lap. Porthos' hands have landed on his boyfriend's hips and they are so warm that Aramis squirms unconsciously to get them to move. Porthos obliges him, recalling the easy conversation, the quiet requests for Mati to please let them eat in peace for a minute, and how relaxed Anne had been in his company. Miles away from how she had behaved the last time they were together in his office and she had kissed him. It may have helped that they were in the lounge and that it wasn't an intimate setting at all.

 

“Did you talk about Sunday? Because I wouldn't mind you two doing things behind my back for _that_.”

 

“What's Sunday?” Porthos draws back a little, faking surprise. Aramis doesn't even wait to start whining and pouting.

 

“Porthos!”

 

“What is it, cupcake?”

 

“You know what Sunday is!”

 

“Do I? Oh.....Oh. Could it be that someone is turning 30? And could it be that this someone really, really enjoys _this_?”

 

Aramis finds himself giggling and trying to fight off Porthos who has cornered him, his eyes those of a predator until he is literally crushing his boyfriend, fitting in between spread legs. Aramis can't fight it, this ridiculously cute grin and the way Porthos' face glows so close to his, happy to tease. Aramis sighs against warm lips, wraps his arms around Porthos' neck. And then squirms under Porthos' tickling fingers.

 

“Yeah, we mentioned _that_.”

 

Aramis beams underneath him, pleased with the now still fingers lying against the bare skin of his stomach, Porthos having no intention to draw back. He's good where he is, flushed against Aramis, loving all of it and especially the foot hooking with his ankle.

 

“I can't wait. I can't wait for Saturday night either and I can't wait to spend the entire weekend with you two.”

 

“You're pretty excited.”

 

“Aren't you?”

 

“I am.” Porthos is. So, so much. His heart wouldn't stop racing after he'd said good bye to Anne at the gym. Because the next time they'll see one another will be for their date and it's almost all that he can think about. It might also be all that she can think about, if the sweet goodbye kiss she gave his cheek was any indication. Or how she wasn't so much afraid anymore to let her hand grip his arm while doing so.

 

“We talked so much,” Porthos goes on, “that I actually believe she left without even going to exercise.”

 

“Well, you're a great distraction.”

 

“Sometimes, I wonder if she doesn't come to the gym simply for the free baby-sitting.”

 

“Free, free....”

 

Aramis shakes his head, loving how every time Porthos talks, it washes over his face. If he could spend hours kissing those lush lips, then he gladly would. If he cannot stop smiling, it is because he is enjoying having his boyfriend so close to him. But also because it feels oddly relieving to be able to talk about Anne with him without feeling jealousy for all the hours they've spent without him around. He would never have believed it possible, and yet, he would never have believed that he could feel jealousy if someone came to close to Anne. It's taking a while to come to terms with how his feelings are being re-arranged. Or to even understand and acknowledge those he had kept buried because they could only cause trouble. It's liberating.

 

It's worth it when it means that he can gaze at a relaxed and carefree Porthos and that there is no more resentment and anger between them. Aramis won't allow his own heart to feel those for Porthos or Anne ever again. It killed him the last time.

 

“It is free,” Porthos insists. “She didn't want to accept the free fitness lessons so I didn't give her a choice regarding daycare.”

 

“I didn't accept the free lessons either.”

 

“That's because you are two big pains in the ass.” More poking and tickling. Aramis sticks his tongue out.

 

“It's because we love you and we don't want to see your business go to ruins if you were too generous with your family. That's why. And I've never heard you complain about any pain when I come near your ass.”

 

To prove his point, Aramis' hands land on Porthos' ass, grab and clutch, pushing him maybe a little more against him. Porthos heaves out and laughs.

 

“On the contrary. I adore it. Under certain circumstances. It makes me happy to offer you the fees.”

 

“It makes us happy to pay them. It's means we're helping.” Aramis shuts him up with a resounding kiss, his ankle moving up Porthos' calf until somehow, he ends up lying down on the couch and Porthos is sprawled on top of him. Not that he is complaining. “Besides, Anne could never be a pain. Have you looked at her?”

 

“I have. Believe me, 'mis, I have.” Porthos can finally admit that much. “And so much more lately. She's pretty.”

 

“She's fabulous. She has eyes so kind you could get lost in them. Have you noticed that?”

 

“I'll have to look more into it now that you mention it.”

 

“Do. Whenever she talks to you, I mean really talk to you, it's as if you are drawn to her and you cannot stop listening. It's the first thing I saw in her. This and how they would sparkle whenever she smiled. She was one of the best friends I made thanks to fencing.”

 

“Aramis?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You wouldn't happen to have had a crush on Anne when you were younger?” Porthos has to ask, given how enthralled Aramis appears to be, reminiscing on the very first years when he had known her. His answer takes some time to come.

 

“She's beautiful, you've said it yourself. But her conversation is probably what I like the more about her. All that she would talk about. She's so smart and captivating. She was the best of the girlfriends from the fencing team. Even mine at the time couldn't hold a candle to her. It didn't last very long, with training and all the championships and all,” Aramis supplies, waving a hand to dismiss any gossip Porthos might have wanted to know about this girl.

 

“I wouldn't say it was a crush,” Aramis decides. “Because I may not have liked her ex much, we were nonetheless part of the same team and when you compete at such levels, even the slightest flare of jealousy can destroy months and months of hard work. She was unobtainable and I didn't even think of her like that. She was a great friend, one which happened to be incredibly cute. Honestly, I would have never gambled on us growing so close. She was always supposed to marry that guy, have his kids and I wouldn't have seen her after that.”

 

“You're happy you did, though. Grow close to her.”

 

“After everything? Yes, definitely. After the first shock of learning that she was pregnant and being rejected by most of our former friends. Yes. Perhaps it was better this way. For her, too.”

 

“She's remarkable. She would have been so out of my league normally,” Porthos ponders. Aramis rolls his eyes. One of his hands is leisurely going back and forth on his boyfriend's ass, moving up his back at the ridiculous words.

 

“You could have anyone you wanted. You're charming, Porthos. People can't resist you. I didn't. She didn't.”

 

“I'm glad you brought her into my life.”

 

There's some kind of a thrill being able to be so open and honest about what he feels for Anne with Aramis. Knowing full well that it will be welcome and heard and that it won't trigger any fight. It's like a fresh start to not worry about that anymore. And Porthos' words couldn't be more sincere. Just like he cannot imagine how much he's changed and grown since he's met Aramis, how he would never go back to his previous life, he cannot picture his life without Anne in it as well. He's not going for the easiest life of all, but it's his own.

 

“You know,” Aramis thinks out loud, glancing above his boyfriend's head to their otherwise quiet appartment, “perhaps one day she'll be around here with us. Often.”

 

“And she'll shake her head at how cheesy we are?”

 

“And she'll smack your head when you'll say something silly.”

 

“She'll smack yours!”

 

“Yes. Yes, she will,” Aramis concedes. He sighs deeply, tries to conjure this particular future in his mind. If it has to happen, it will be spectacular, he has no doubt about that. It will most certainly be challenging, but they all more or less agreed to the difficulties when they decided to move forward, all three of them together. “I want to make her comfortable,” he adds quietly.

 

Porthos shifts on the couch, pulls back a bit.

 

“I think she is. Or she is starting to relax more. I mean, we are already together and she is the one coming in. I guess I'd be anxious if I were her. I'd be afraid to make mistakes or to do things that would be taken the wrong way. It's good to talk about it. It'll help. Her and us.”

 

“I want to go slow. No rush because...I don't know what we're doing and....have you ever done it?”

 

“Seriously? You're asking _me_ this?” Porthos almost snorts. “I couldn't stay with someone for longer than a month before you, 'mis.”

 

“True. Sorry.”

 

“No need.”

 

Porthos leans forward and nuzzles his boyfriend's cheek with his nose, relishes in the low sighs that Aramis gives. It's a cute sound. One that he adores. He also loves how Aramis' fingers have abandoned trailing up and down his shirt to sneak under it and graze his skin. It's both comforting in its familiarity, nothing meant behind it, and enticing. Because there is one part of Porthos which would like for Aramis to do much more. But this part can shut up for the time being. This is a serious conversation.

 

“I haven't either,” Aramis remarks, which comes as no surprise. “I've no idea what it's like dating two people. Except that I want you both and that I feel good with the both of you and I'm pretty sure I won't screw up.”

 

“I don't think you will. I know why you're saying this.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Yeah. You're afraid you'll prioritize one of us before the other.”

 

It's a vague echo of an old fight they had a year ago, when Aramis had started to ignore Porthos because Mati was hurt all the way back in Spain and he was dying to be so far away. It's all good now, and they could never make the same mistakes again. They understand each other more. Porthos has grown close to everyone. Aramis has made tremendous efforts to accommodate all the persons dear to him. They've managed to form a great family.

 

Aramis nods sheepishly.

 

“It's not the same,” Porthos assures him. “And you've made tremendous efforts including us all in your life. And I suppose I've made some realizing you couldn't always revolve just around me. Don't get me wrong: it would be amazing if you could, but it's just not going to happen.”

 

“Except for tonight.”

 

“Yeah, except for times like that when you are only mine and I can do with you as I please.”

 

There's a loving hand on Porthos's cheek, not doing anything but staying there. Skin against skin and Aramis looking at him with such reverence that somehow, it would be impossible to be scared anymore. The two of them alone and quiet and so close that they practically make one. Which is everything that Porthos has ever wanted, even when he believed it would be suffocating. For some reason, it never is with Aramis. If anything, he would enjoy it a lot if they could be closer.

 

“You'll be fine, 'mis. You love her, on your own terms, perhaps not like I do, but us, both of us, we're good. And who knows? I might even make the same mistakes. But it's going to be great. Phenomenal even. Because you know what? Anne wants it as much as we do and that's enough to let me know that even if we do make mistakes and we fumble, it'll all be fine in the end.We'll do this together. Let's talk and be honest, right?”

 

Porthos is giving this pep talk to himself as much as he is giving it to his boyfriend. They've been holding back for the past weeks since Mati was around and they didn't want to have to handle the child and their growing relationship at the same time. It'll be clearer once the boy is in Spain. Or so they hope.

 

“Besides,” Porthos continues, “it doesn't really feel like dating. Sure, I'm as clueless as you are about how to handle two people at the same time, but it's you and it's Anne. We're already family. Easy.”

 

His bright smile is enough to make Aramis chuckle and reach up to kiss his cheek. He needs this kind of conversation as much as he needs physical display of affection. Being close to Porthos, practically wrapped around him, talking about what is about to change and who is going to make life better, it's comforting. It makes him want to fast forward to their dinner on Saturday night. He wants to see if he can actually see Anne in a different context and let all the feelings he could have for her bloom totally. How magnificent it could be.

 

“Exactly. We're just improving our family, improving our life in common and making it more exciting.”

 

“Precisely. And I'll keep on loving you no matter what because without you, my life would be so dull and I refuse to go back to that. Like, who would send frantic messages begging to buy shampoo because they forgot? Or who would force me to eat so many veggies in one sitting? Or who would eat all my chocolate and think I wouldn't notice?”

 

“That's Mati!”

 

“It's on the top shelf of the cabinet above the sink. Yeah. I'm sure Mati goes through sudden growth spurts during the night.” This time, Porthos does snort, right in his boyfriend's embarassed face. “You've never been very clever on how to get away with it.”

 

“But it's very, very good chocolate and I was hungry. Do you want me to start smoking again?”

 

“I don't hold to blackmail, Sir.”

 

There's hardly any second spared during which Aramis could beg for Porthos to stop. It's too much tickling and poking in his ribs. It makes him struggle for breath until Aramis realizes that he is laughing so hard and giggling to such extent that he doesn't care about breathing for a while. He kicks Porthos once or twice trying to break free, until somehow, Porthos ends up on the carpet, his boyfriend's wrists trapped in his fists. Aramis is half-sitting on the couch, thrashing and his clothes is a complete state of disarray.

 

When he collapses against Porthos' chest, his heart is hammering and all he can do is gasp for air in between kisses. Porthos has stopped torturing him, content to hold him close. His eyes are tinkling with such happiness that Aramis knows without a doubt that he could always get lost in those as well. His face has taken a rather bright color.

 

“Shame on you. Blaming it on the kid.” But Porthos' face is saying something else entirely. He's breathing as hard as Aramis and yet it doesn't stop him from circling his waist and peppering his lips with kisses.

 

“I'll buy you more. I promise,” Aramis manages to say after a quiet respite. Somehow, he's ended up sitting on Porthos' lap, wedged between the coffee table and the couch. Not the most pleasant position because it's precarious. Especially after Porthos' phone starts vibrating against his inner thigh and he's all but shoved to the ground so that his boyfriend can pick up the call.

 

“It's the lawyer's office,” Porthos explains, standing up, frowning a little. It's Aramis' cue to stand up as well and retreat to the kitchen, busying himself with cooking and tidying up.

 

Porthos' appointment with his lawyer is on the following day and a week after learning about his biological father's death, he's handling it better. It's helped to go to the orphanage and also to have had a couple of nights only with Aramis without interruption. It was quieter to talk, exactly like they did tonight. Porthos can begin to accept what is final and what will never be again. There's only the matter of Belgard's will to settle now. The quicker the better.

 

The conversation unnerves Aramis, though, even if he can only witness Porthos' reactions to what is being said on the phone. There's is too much frowning, nodding and clearly not enough talking on his boyfriend's end. Porthos's face isn't as joyous as it was while he was torturing the other minutes earlier. Which is why, by the time Porthos hangs up, there's already a glass of wine waiting for him. One that he accepts gladly, despite the shadow which has fallen on his eyes.

 

“What's the matter?” There's no immediate response, Porthos simply looking at his drink and taking one sip. “Porthos?”

 

“Let me think, Aramis.” It's such a curt reply that his boyfriend knows he needs to zip it immediately. Not that he is happy to do so, but there's no need to remind Porthos that this isn't a nice way to talk. It might only lead to fighting and this isn't what he had in mind for the evening. Aramis pouts while turning back to setting the table.

 

“Is there trouble with the daughter?” he cannot help inquiring. Because he's been able to remain silent for five whole minutes. The quiet is too heavy, though, and the sight of Porthos chewing on his lip, his shoulders sagging and his wine gone so fast that he has time to refill his glass whereas Aramis hasn't even drunk half of his, that's not good.

 

“What? Oh no. I don't think so. He didn't talk about her. He was just calling to....remind me of the papers I had to bring tomorrow.”

 

Porthos leans against the wall, eyes resolutely set somewhere behind Aramis, gazing into the distance, lost in deep thoughts. Until they shift and settle on his worried yet amazingly patient boyfriend. Aramis is fidgeting on his spot, uneasy simply because Porthos is.

 

“Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I think.....there's a problem with Mati's money.”

 

“Why would you say that?”

 

“He was listing the papers, like I said, and then he specified that I needed some legal proof that I could get the money for my children.” Porthos signs the quotation marks in the air, hates that he has to do it, but he's been reminded of one major problem in their family arrangement and it's making him bitter. “I'm aware we all say that Mati's like my....son and yes. I like thinking of him as such. It makes....it's like my heart does somersaults in my chest whenever I think of what I've become. It's miles away from what I would have imagined and it makes me proud.”

 

“It makes me proud, too.” Aramis has stepped forward to grab one shaking hand. There's almost no need for Porthos to continue his explanation because his boyfriend has more or less understood the problem. It's unfair and it makes him a little mad, even if you cannot quite argue with the law. Porthos squeezes the fingers and half-smiles.

 

“We always say we're a family, we manage to act like a functioning one and yet, for the law, I'm no one. And he cannot have the money because of it. Sorry.”

 

“Don't be. You know we don't care about the money.”

 

Porthos leans against the soft hand on his cheek, the thumb rubbing back and forth. Aramis is upset, too, although it certainly isn't about the thousands of euros. This, he couldn't care less about. Anne and him have made it pretty clear. He's upset that what for them is natural and normal cannot be acknowledged as such by the law. He's also upset that it's made Porthos feel so down so quickly. So Aramis won't show that he angry, and instead he kisses a cheek and then warm lips. Rests his forehead against Porthos', smells white wine with every breath his boyfriend draws on his face. Porthos closes his eyes.

 

“Still.”

 

It's not just about the money for him either. In a few sentences, his lawyer has unearthed much more, without meaning to. He's only doing his job. Porthos would be glad if Mati could have the money, but at any rate, it seems that no one will ever benefit from it. He sighs so deeply that his body shakes a little against Aramis'.

 

“Something could happen to you and Mati would....I wouldn't....be able to....You or Anne, you could....God I don't want that but you could....be gone and I might never see him again.”

 

It's as if each of these horrendous thoughts is piercing his heart, twisting his insides. The mere idea of it makes him want to throw up. Porthos wouldn't have believed he could grow so attached to his people. He doesn't want, under any circumstances, to have them ripped away from him.

 

Before tonight, he had never paid these thoughts much mind. His main fear was to lose Aramis, that they wouldn't get along or want to have any business with the other anymore. And this, incidentally, would mean that Porthos wouldn't see Mati anymore. But he had never dwelt upon what the law would decide if something much more dreadful were to happen. Damn his lawyer.

 

Bless his lawyer, though, is what Aramis is thinking. On the contrary, he had been having this little disturbing thought going through his mind more and more in the past months. Not that he ever wanted to have to come to such ends since it would mean that Anne or him wouldn't be around to take care of their son. Permanently. And not that he wouldn't trust his parents or Anne's to raise the child. But his boyfriend is so important. Irreplaceable. They do need to address the issue now.

 

Aramis takes a deep shuddering breath.

 

“I love you, sweetie. I've been loving you for a long time and I never intend to stop being in love with you. Mati loves you. I think it's a safe bet to say that Anne does, too. You're our family and we wouldn't want it any other way. You know how we've always insisted we never needed material proof of our love. The two of us, I mean. You've never given me anything for my birthday and I haven't either and our Christmas gifts are always the silliest things we can think of.”

 

This draws a low chuckle from Porthos. Aramis is right. And it's great fun. Porthos loves him and that's more than enough.

 

“I like Valentine's Day since it gives us an excuse to want to spend time together, but if you ever wanted to give me heart-shaped chocolates, I'm pretty sure that I'd....”

 

“I wouldn't. Or if I did, it'd be because you're greedy about chocolate, regardless of their shape.”

 

“Yes, I'd probably eat them,” Aramis concedes. “But I'd give you a nasty look while doing so. I mean, what's the point of deciding you need to show someone you love them on a particular day? It's pointless. Buy them to me tomorrow and they'll be more meaningful to me.”

 

“I won't. You have plenty left over there.” Porthos grins a bit, cocks his head at the kitchen cabinet, manages to laugh at Aramis' discomfited face. “You know it's yours as much as mine anyway.”

 

“Thank you. The point is, Porthos, I don't need anything to show the world that I love you and I want to spend as many years of my life as I can with you. I want to spend a very, very long time being harassed to make food with obscene high levels of carbs. And harassing you for kisses and cuddles.”

 

Thankfully, Porthos' glass is empty as he wraps his arms around Aramis' waist. Aramis comes willingly, linking his hands around his boyfriend's neck. They're so close that their noses bump if they want to move their head. It makes Aramis giggle and Porthos relax, in spite of the turmoil in his mind.

 

“I don't mind this specific harrassment.”

 

“Good. Because I've no intention of stopping anytime soon. Porthos, I.....I may not need these material proof of what you are for me, and I know you don't need it either, but some do. I agree that it shouldn't mean that we have to do something about it, but perhaps it's best if we do. For us and for Mati. Not for the money,” he has to repeat with insistance.

 

Porthos shakes his head, clutches Aramis' tee-shirt with both hands now that his glass has somewhat been safely discarded to the counter with Aramis'. The wine is buzzing a little behind his forehead, although it has nothing to do with the way his heart now beats in his chest. Aramis sounds and looks so serious and determined. As if he's been pondering this for a very long time and was only waiting for the right moment to address the issue.

 

“I'm not going to ask you to marry me.” Aramis bites his lip, waits for Porthos to nod to let him know it's okay to keep talking. “That's not the point. That's not a decision to make hastily. It's too big and too soon and perhaps we never will and we'll never want to. It doesn't matter. I don't care. What I do care about, is you meaning something to me and to my son. It won't make our feelings grow stronger, but it'll make it official and I for one, want that. I want everyone everywhere to know that I'm committing myself and my child to you. Because you're worth it and you deserve it and we _love_ you.”

 

Aramis wills his voice to be steady. He is confident in what he states, he deeply desires it. What would make his voice crack with emotion is the way Porthos gazes at him, how his eyes cannot stop moving. As if he's trying to process everything that is being said to him. All these things that he knows to be true and that have been asserted so many times for the past days, if not weeks. He has to close his eyes, because Aramis is making him too emotional and it wouldn't do to cry. Porthos re-opens them sharply at the next hesitating question.

 

“We don't need to be married, right?”

 

“For what?”

 

“For you to be legally related to Mati.”

 

“You'd want that?” Porthos' voice does crack this time. Aramis' finger comes to rest at the corner of his eye because if his boyfriend wants to let go, like his shaking body is suggesting, then it's fine with him.

 

“I want us to be a family, a real one, in every sense of the term. I don't want you to have to go through stupid interviews at school or anywhere else for people to entrust Mati to you.”

 

“What about Anne?”

 

“We'll ask her, but I've a feeling she'll give you the same answer. She's already welcomed you with open arms. We all did. Would you want that?”

 

Porthos draws a shaky breath, tries to laugh it off, but he isn't fooling Aramis. Is this what his dad felt when he offered him to become a member of his family? Is this what it feels like to be fully aware that finally, you can belong with a group of people that you can rightfully claim as yours and no one will dare contradict you?

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.”

 

Aramis' lips are like a feather on his. Patient and sweet. He cradles Porthos' head to his shoulder for a long while, doesn't move and holds him tight.

 

“We don't have to be married.” It's a mumble muffled by Aramis' clothes. Marriage is too much for someone who a year ago, wasn't even comfortable buying a house with Aramis as he believed it to be too big a commitment. Porthos doesn't mind being closer to Aramis, but certainly not that way. Aramis is correct: it's too soon and who cares about such gigantic display of affection? He doesn't mind attending weddings, he's looking forward to d'Artagnan's, and yet that's nowhere in his future for him. Living with Aramis as they are is already such a tremendous accomplishment that he doesn't need or want to go through the whole hassle that Constance is always complaining about.

 

“But we need to have legal proof,” Porthos adds. There are a few tears drying on his cheeks once he looks up at Aramis and finds such spectacular love in his smile that it'd make him tear up all over again. Is that what real happiness feels like?

 

Is this what sharing your life with someone who understands and adores you to such lengths feels like? An ominous and upsetting phonecall turning into surprisingly comforting and life-changing decisions without a glitch and without it being too frightening?

 

Aramis kisses the salty skin of Porthos' cheeks, encloses his face in his hands. There is such determination in his eyes that it would make the most hesitant person agree with him. Nobody will mess with his family. He's worked too hard for the past years to make it so.

 

“Would a civil partnership do?”

 

“He said one or the other. But even if we do, this won't be enough.”

 

“I'm aware, sweetie. But at least that'll be something and you can ask your lawyer what else we should do to make you an official guardian. Or more.” Aramis shrugs casually, because in spite of it all, it's also making him super emotional to watch Porthos so delighted by the news that he cannot help but break down. He loves this giant teddy bear too much.

 

“More?”

 

“Yes, more. If you want to. I know one way or another I'll be glad that you can officially be someone for Mati. Be it a stepfather or you know, an actual father.”

 

“That's it. You've done it. You've made me cry.”

 

Against all odds, Aramis laughs out loud then, right when Porthos' lips are quivering and his eyes turn misty and hot tears slide down as he blinks. Porthos stifles the laughter with a kiss of his own, backs Aramis up until he is the one trapped between his boyfriend and a wall. There is a yelp which turns into a chuckle.

 

“Will you sign the papers with me, Porthos?”

 

But his boyfriend is still struggling to breathe and to stop the tears from spilling to make coherent sentences. Lost that he is in wanting to kiss Aramis' breath away, he forgets to even nod. He does dry his eyes with the palm of his hand.

 

“I mean, it doesn't have to be right away. We can wait a little. Not too much because now, I really, really, really want this and I'll be a pain if we don't do it soon but we can wait if you're not ready or....”

 

“Aramis? Shut up.”

 

There's no time to look offended as Porthos hauls him up in his arms, pulls him flush against him until Aramis wraps his legs around his waist and looks at Porthos with pure adoration.

 

“Yes. Yes, I want to sign those papers with you. Yes, I want to be someone for Mati. And yes, I want to spend as much time as I can tickling you until you can't breathe anymore. And I want to kick your leg to stop you from snoring. And I want to always sit at your table to eat your homemade pizzas. And I want to always hold your hand when we walk in parks and forests for hours. And I want to always feel these funny butterflies right there in my stomach when I hold you so close. Yes. Yes.”

 

Lips are not quivering or hesitating this time. They crash full on Aramis, effectively make his breath itch. His hands grab Porthos' hair so tight, pushing him incredibly closer. The doorframe digs into Aramis' back, a sharp and uncomfortable pain dulled by Porthos' hands on his thighs, clutching his ass so he won't fall. Not that he would.

 

Aramis' legs are wrapped so firmly that even when Porthos dumps him on the bed -the walk so quick that his boyfriend almost didn't realize they were going to the bedroom until the soft mattress felt fluffier than wood on his back- he still doesn't let go. Porthos stumbles flat on him, decides he likes Aramis' heels digging in his ass or how he's being kissed so ardently.

 

It's hot in its sloppiness and in the heavy tongue rubbing against Porthos'.

 

“Is that how we seal the deal?” Aramis rasps, finding that his skin is tingling under his clothes, not helped by his boyfriend's fingers creeping underneath them, flat on his stomach. His tee-shirt lands somewhere near the headboard, knocks the bedside lamp and neither of them cares about it.

 

“Did you turn off the stove?”

 

“How romantic.”

 

Aramis isn't grinning after Porthos' mouth has landed on his neck, the soft skin that he can nibble on leisurely. It smells so good, it's so Aramis. It smells of spring and fresh paper and ink. There's a large blue streak right there going from his ear to his collarbone. Even with a pen, his boyfriend can be clumsy. But it's cute and endearing so Porthos licks it, hums when the other moans and shivers.

 

Aramis is squirming under him, rubbing against him. Jeans against sweat pants as he fumbles with his belt. But he's distracted by rugged fingers gliding on his chest, waking every inch of it up with long and thorough caresses which elicit only more moans. Porthos loves how fresh and soft Aramis' skin is, how it responds to each and every single one of his touches. Be it as light as the pad of a finger or how he kneads and clutches his hips. Be it with his hands or with his tongue as it sucks down, trails down to Aramis' belly button and so impossibly lower until his teeth can graze the top of his jeans.

 

It makes Aramis arch his back, pushing himself more against Porthos and the promise of what's to come. It makes him hotter than he believed possible in the wake of all the emotions. If anything, they are only fuelling the profund love and desire they feel for one another.

 

Aramis drawls incoherent sounds at the scorching lips kissing his nipples and at the skilled tongue flat on them. With his eyes closed, he can't see how Porthos is smirking up at him, at his wild face and at how Aramis' hands thrash, desperate to hold on to anything for support. Even more at the hand undoing his belt and the top button of his pants. It's torture to draw back. Porthos isn't quite hard yet, but all the noises that Aramis knows he can make without restraint and how he's been moving against him are quickly turning him on.

 

There is one loud whine at the complete absence of Porthos for a few seconds. Aramis is very much opposed to his boyfriend not kissing or touching him. His chest heaves and his heart is already beating fast when he finds Porthos standing up, taking off his clothes. He's still in his underwear once he all but pounces on Aramis, traps both of his hands high above their heads to prevent Aramis from undressing as well.

 

“You don't get to do much tonight,” Porthos decides. A hot and wet breath on Aramis' temple. He has resumed caressing Aramis, from his shoulders down to his waist and he can feel the skin tingle against him. Inviting and lying on display for him to do as he pleases.

 

“You've done lots already,” Porthos adds before he can hear any complaint. Aramis has none to voice. Even if he had some, he isn't sure he could do more than grunt and beg to be touched again and again. Porthos is invading his senses and his mind and he's all that matters.

 

Instead, Aramis chases after swollen lips while Porthos shuffles down the bed, one hand flat on Aramis' stomach. His mouth is back on his jeans and his boyfriend very nearly believes if he had been hard already, he would have come only from Porthos using his teeth to unzip his fly.

 

“Fuck, that's hot.”

 

So he can make coherent sentences, Aramis finds out, propped on his elbows to watch Porthos grinning up at him. Not for long because the feeling of a wet mouth sort of grazing his underwear is doing ridiculous things to him. He stumbles back on the bed, one arm thrown across his eyes after Porthos has manhandled him out of his remaining clothes. Nothing but a gloriously naked Aramis stretched in bed.

 

He feels goosebumps under his hands as he rubs Aramis' legs, all the way to his inner thighs. Porthos takes a second to breathe steadily. His cock is stirring at the sight. Much like Aramis' does, still soft when he licks the tip. His tongue travels down the length of it, wets it so perfectly for his lips to close on the cockhead. Porthos can feel it harden under his touch, he can feel it pulse with Aramis' desire. That and the loud curses and the many, many groans which come from up above. Aramis can't keep still. Porthos kisses his cock so completely, plays with it softly, with fingers and teeth and mouth. He kisses his balls, hums around them, lashes out less carefully but as greedily as he used to a minute before.

 

It all becomes better when Aramis is so hard that he has trouble not thrusting his hips every time Porthos strokes his cock. It's strong and it's tight and Aramis loves it. Almost as much as the blowjob. There is so much to feel that he is pliant in his boyfriend's arms, letting him do whatever it is that he pleases. If he shivers, it's with pleasure and if he begs Porthos, it's for more. More tongue and more lips and more fingers and more roughness. More of everything.

 

More fingers digging in the skin of his hip. More lips glistening against his, making him moan in the kiss. Porthos is heavy on him. Not holding back, basically crushing him. Because Porthos knows what Aramis wants and he knows that even if Aramis would like to reciprocate all that is being done to him, he also immensely loves being told to do no such thing and submit.

 

“Hey, cupcake. Help me out there.”

 

Porthos' voice is so husky it sounds like a growl and Aramis loves it all the more. His eyes are half-closed but he watches intently as Porthos holds a few fingers for him to wet. The way Aramis licks and sucks on them makes his boyfriend light-headed and he does, indeed, growl. For a second, he forgets what he had in mind and can't complain at Aramis palming his erection, forcing the underwear out of the way so he can get a proper hold on the other's cock and strokes it as it deserves it. Porthos drops his head close to Aramis', his fist still clutching Aramis' cock which somehow ends up brushing against his. They both shudder at the sensation.

 

“Lie down and let me do the work.” In a remarkable feat, Porthos pushes Aramis' hand away, then bends his boyfriend's leg and reclaims his now slick fingers.

 

“I'm helping out.”

 

“You're a distraction from _this_.”

 

Whatever reply Aramis might have had in mind, it's drowned out by Porthos' fingers on his ass, circling his hole, playing with it. Hot skin against wet skin. Aramis has to throw his head back and drawl a long groan. He spreads his legs more. Porthos feels Aramis clench from the simple but regular touch. It's hot and tight when he pushes a finger in and then he loses his grip on his boyfriend's cock. Aramis cannot stay still and he's pushed himself up, urging Porthos deeper in his ass by sitting and wrapping one leg around the other's waist.

 

Because that way, he can kiss Porthos while he fucks him. One finger and then a second, curling and moving not so carefully. It's making Aramis feel like his guts are on fire. That he's going to implode. It's painful and then it's soothing that Porthos never stops, that he grips Aramis' hair with his messy hand and holds him closer. It's awkward until he rocks back on his heels and gives up on asking Aramis to just enjoy it. His contribution is invaluable.

 

How he pushes himself down on the fingers, how hard he does it. How he clings to Porthos' neck and how he licks his ear, the soft skin below his jawline. How much more of everything he wants. Porthos inside his ass, rubbing and thrusting and moving. There are two cocks pulsating between their sweaty chests. Every time Porthos drags fingers through the damp curls on Arami's head, it makes him shiver and press down more.

 

“I'm good,” Aramis gasps, pushing on Porthos' chest so he can lie down. He's still fucking him, much against how his fingers are pulled away. But his cock is throbbing, jerking in Aramis' hand. So, so hard and delighted with the proceedings that it would almost hurt.

 

It's nothing compared to how Aramis takes his time sinking down on it, two hands sprawled on Porthos' chest. Staring straight at him until all that Porthos can feel around his cock is Aramis' ass and the tiny movements that his boyfriend makes on his lap jostle him from this ecstasy to start fucking into him more deeply.

 

Aramis collapses against Porthos, because the thrusts are as powerful as he needs them, and he can lower himself down better that way. It starts with painful sparks in his stomach, because he was still so tight nonetheless but it doesn't matter. It's Porthos and him, and Aramis loves that. He loves long and hard thrusts just like he loves the tinier ones. The teasing ones.

 

He loves the nails digging in the flesh of his thighs or how Porthos swears at the pink tongue on his nipples. He loves how Aramis pinches and plays with them. How he wants Porthos so deep inside of him. Porthos loves knowing that he is safe not holding back because this is exactly what Aramis adores and desires. All these tiny noises and how he bites his lip in concentration.

 

How his eyes widen with lust when Porthos has rolled them around and that Aramis lands on the bed, Porthos still buried deep in his ass and flushed against him. The sticky skin of Aramis' legs rubs against his boyfriend's chest after he's propped Aramis' feet on his shoulders. They can't stay there, there's too much going on. And Porthos is fucking him too fast now. Drunk on his cock sliding inside of Aramis better this way. Sleek and dirty. Aramis closes his eyes to stay in control but this is perhaps a much better position. It touches places in him that were puzzling ignored seconds ago. Porthos' concentrated and perfect face is the one thing he can gaze at while his hand closes on his own cock.

 

It's a jerky motion not helped by Porthos' rhythm or the strong grip his boyfriend has on Aramis' legs. He feels somehow trapped in it all. His eyes roll back, it's as if his heart stops for the split second he feels his orgasm hitting him. And he cries out, so loud, for such a long time, when he comes. Not that it could make Porthos slow down. If anything, while Aramis rubs at his eyes, imagines that his chest is going to burst open and that there is come all over it, Porthos feeds on that beautiful vision and pushes in, clutches dirty skin.

 

Porthos all but collapses on Aramis after he's come. His breathing is ragged and his eyes need some time to adjust to the room before he can see more than the bright white color flashing behind his eyelids. There is living and warm flesh under him. Flesh which hums in appreciation of what has been done to it. Aramis has to cradle Porthos' head close to his chest. Right there in the crook of his neck. Where his pulse beats widly. Porthos snuggles closer, doesn't care for come or sweat or anything that isn't pure Aramis.

 

He lands one soft kiss in his boyfriend's neck, gropes for an arm until he finds a warm one. Then his hand travels down to thread with loving fingers. Porthos doesn't care much for talking. He cares for delectable arms and calming emotions while he comes down from the heights of his orgasm. There isn't one ounce of him which would feel like crying now.

 

Not that he was sad in the kitchen. They were tears of joy. Aramis has made him feel all better. From his words and from his love and his actions. He could spend hours cuddling him, enjoying the caresses on his back.

 

“I don't care much about marriage but we can still borrow the wedding night tradition,” Porthos thinks out loud. Aramis chuckles above his head. There's a feather kiss on Porthos' hair.

 

“If it isn't as phenomenal as tonight, I'll feel let down.”

 

“Give me half an hour and some food and I'll show you that I could never let you down on that.”

 

Porthos squirms at the devilish fingers now tickling him. Crushes Aramis in a fantastic hug and a hot kiss.

Promises.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @CanadianGarrison for pointing out the legal flaw for Mati to inherit the money. It's led to a Porthos as emotional as we both expected it.


	6. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's Spanish in it. Expect _italics ___

Aramis hurtles out of the locker room, running a hand in his still damp hair. He's left all of his stuff in the room, his shoes aren't laced and he all but slides on the slippery floor of the gym's lounge before he spots Porthos at the front desk. In deep conversation with an employee and a couple of customers.

 

He's leaning forward on the counter, giving his boyfriend an exquisite view of his backside. Aramis catches his breath, remembers the more intimate position they were in moments earlier while they were working out. And groans at his sore muscles as he resumes walking. Porthos is a great coach but now that Aramis is getting more comfortable, he's turning into quite the tyrant many women have been jokingly complaining about. A soft tyrant, a smiling one, yet a tyrant nonetheless.

 

Not wanting to interrupt, how ever important his news is, Aramis waits by the side, clutching his phone, his eyes sparkling with surprise and delight whenever they land on the screen and the picture. So rather often.

 

“Hey, Aramis!” the female employee greets him. Sophie, that's her name. The very first member of the staff he met almost two years ago. The one who gives fitness lessons to Anne. Too much make-up on her face, gigantic earrings which should be illegal while exercising. Such a genuine smile, though.

 

Porthos turns toward him, finds him fidgeting, showing more patience than Aramis is known for.

 

“Are you ready? Let me finish with these ladies and....”

 

“I'm not. Ready. Not yet.”

 

He rocks on his heels, shoelaces waving on the glittering floortiles. His shirt only has a couple of buttons done. It seems that Aramis is behaving at the gym as if it was an extension of their home. Not that Porthos would ever say no to such a dazzling sight. Dishevelled hair, his boyfriend out of breath in ridiculously tight jeans, and the musles of his arms flexing whenever he moves them. Aramis' decision to effectively join the gym is both a blessing and a curse.

 

The curse outweights the blessing, though, because it's a struggle to remain casual and professional with so many people around while Aramis strolls, being that attractive without meaning to. At least, Porthos gets to grope him a little under the very pretence of giving advice for a more efficient work-out routine.

 

“Look at that.” Aramis hands Porthos the phone, leans above his shoulder to glance at the picture. So do Sophie and the other women. There's always something compelling about Mati, even if he isn't in the room with them. There's a concert of cooing and awwing, Aramis beaming at everyone.

 

“He looks perfectly swell,” Porthos decides.

 

Aramis nods, staring at his son's cheerful grin while he sits on a huge carpet, surrounded by toys, chocolate smudged around his mouth, the mug of hot chocolate being gripped with both hands.

 

Porthos pats Aramis' back, reassuring him once more that it isn't the end of the world if the boy has gone to Spain for the week. Nothing will happen to him over there, regardless of how worried Aramis has been since the morning. Since he went to the airport with Anne to say goodbye to their son.

 

Porthos couldn't accompany them, because of work, but somehow, he wasn't as stressed as the others. Mati always looked and sounded over the moon to see all of his grandparents for the holiday. And no child has ever gotten lost on an airplane. He was fully aware that Aramis wouldn't relax one bit until he got news that the boy was safe in the care of his family. Which is probably why he came straight to the gym after coming back into town.

 

To blow some steam, to lift weights, to try to run the anxiety away.

 

The one from Mati being so far and the one at knowing that their date with Anne is that very evening.

 

The hours keep ticking closer and Porthos is actually experiencing a peculiar mix of apprehension, but also excitement. Every time he looks at Aramis, it's as if his boyfriend encompasses these same feelings, as well as the hope that things will go further, that they will go extremely well. And the promises that they have a lot of good times to look forward to. Yes, it's more exciting than head-wrecking in the end.

 

Porthos is actually surprised he can concentrate on anything else today.

 

“He seems to be having a blast,” Aramis concurs, relieved. “But look at who sent the picture!”

 

“A number you don't know?”

 

“Anne's parents,” he stresses, scrolling down to the text and the signature.

 

Aramis is still stunned by it. He already misses the child, uneasy to know him far without any of his parents. But he wouldn't have expected Mati's maternal grandparents to send _him_ a message personally. After all, Anne was the one who called to let him know that the boy had landed safely in Madrid and that he was with her parents.

 

“That's good! They're improving!” Porthos is as surprised as his boyfriend and he loves how Aramis' face brightens up perhaps more at this unexpected event.

 

“Yes! I'm....happy about it.”

 

Anne will tell him later that she had to insist for her mother to stop using her as a messenger. What was the harm in taking and using Aramis' phone number when Mati was concerned? It wasn't going to make her sick or anything. Besides, Anne had retorted after her mother had made a shocked gasp at this, Aramis was his _father_ and he deserved direct updates, too. The remark hadn't been received nicely and yet, for the next four days, whenever Anne will get texts with pictures of Mati, so will Aramis.

 

He goes back to focus on his reply after everyone else has resumed the conversation he interrupted. The faster Porthos is done with it, the faster they can go home. A pleased smile lingers on his lips. Porthos' fingers lie so close to his on the counter that it's enough to make Aramis even more delighted and calm than he's starting to feel.

 

He's scrunching his face thinking of a polite and neutral way to phrase his message, when Porthos' warm hand finally settles on the small of his back. Gentle and not overly intimate. Cozy and familiar. So are the kind eyes looking down at him with much affection. Aramis pockets the phone quickly.

 

“Are you relieved then?”

 

“Yes, I am. He'll be fine.”

 

“Of course he will. And he'll have so much to tell us that he won't shut up for days when he'll come back.”

 

“You're probably right.”

 

“I am. And lucky us, he's staying at home when that'll happen.”

 

“We'll invite Anne over for moral support,” Aramis jokes, the hint of expextancy in his tone nevertheless.

 

He so wants their evening to be -if not perfect- relaxing. He wants it to be the proof that there will be many more to come. Long, long hours with Anne, like they used to do before Porthos. But with the addition of his spectacular boyfriend. The man who made them realize what they could be feeling for one another. The man who has been, and is still making their life worth living. A whole deal more than it was when he wasn't a feature in it yet.

 

“You're the one telling her that then,” Porthos says. “Hey, give me five minutes and I'll go back home with you.”

 

“Okay. I'll go get my stuff.”

 

“And tie these shoes. You don't want to have another accident.”

 

Aramis gapes, outraged and Porthos' laughter follows him all the way to the locker room and his gym bag. He's thankful his boyfriend isn't there to witness him trip on a shoelace and stumble against the wall. Thus avoiding an injury yet embarassed to be quite a klutz lately. Aramis blames it on his mind being preoccupied by more important matters of the heart.

 

“Do you know what I was thinking?” he asks on their walk home.

 

It's late afternoon and he is startled to realize he's spent so long at the gym. Porthos would never mind, though. He resents having to work half of his weekends so if he can enjoy his boyfriend's presence sometimes, he's all for it. His hand is clasped tightly in Aramis'. The air is cooling in the streets and in the little park they always stroll through. It's quieter, greener, friendlier than cars, buses, hundreds of passer-bys.

 

“I haven't been feeling any pain in my ankle for the few times I've come,” Aramis continues. “Even on the treadmill, I was good.”

 

“That's good news.” Porthos gives their hands a squeeze.

 

“It is,” Aramis sighs, eager to return to a completely normal life. “I want to go fencing. See if I can do it again.”

 

“And I'd lose the priviledge of being your coach?”

 

“You can, and will, always be my _personal_ coach, sweetie. But fencing's my first love.”

 

Porthos fakes to look offended, shrugging off his boyfriend's arm around his shoulders. Only for Aramis to reach up again and plant a resounding kiss on Porthos' cheek. It seems to satisfy him.

 

“Maybe Anne will want to accompany me. I know that fencing isn't really your thing.”

 

“I kind of like it when it's you but yeah, it's her stuff, too. She'll be happier if you ask her than me. And Constance might be there to hang around with her.”

 

“Might? Sometimes I wonder if her and d'Art haven't actually moved in there.”

 

Porthos gives a loud snort, grabs Aramis' waist and pulls him flush against him just when they arive in front of their building.

 

“You know what _I_ like? Us,” Porthos motions at Aramis, at him, “talking about Anne joining in for all of this. Listening to Mati, going to see you train.”

 

It sends eager sparks in his guts because his heart is bustling with prospect and hope. Tonight will be phenomenal, he has no reason to believe otherwise. Porthos has always enjoyed Anne being with them before today. He sees no reason for that to change. Discovering and acknowleding new feelings has hardly changed anything either. If that didn't, then not much could.

 

“What a bummer it'd be if she didn't want to,” Aramis worries out loud. Porthos makes a face.

 

“When has she ever said no to doing things with us?”

 

Aramis thinks about it.

 

“Now that you mention it....never. I thought she was going to jump through the roof when we invited her to the seaside in February.”

 

“We should have known there was more to her wanting to be with us than wanting to enjoy my company and your never-ending conversation.”

 

They certainly shoud have. It's been made clear now. Everything's clearer. The only apprehension they have about their dinner is simply that it is a first date and you ougth to be at least a little nervous before it. Apart from that, it'll all go smoothly. And Anne will most certainly accept all of their other plans with the same enthusiasm they will display while suggesting them.

 

It all makes them more positive that this is the right choice. The right path.

 

* * *

 

 

Anne is fumbling with her dress when the men ring downstairs, and she still is when they knock on the door. Except now she is also trying to put shoes on. But the buckle is as uncooperative as her clothes. Or her fringers clearly have a mind of their own, trembling and unable to perform simple tasks. She's been waiting for this night for two weeks, looking forward to it and resolute that there was nothing to fear about it. Her relationship with Aramis and Porthos has somewhat gone back to normal: great talks, nice moments spent together and no awkwardness whatsoever.

 

Tonight is still a first date and that's reason enough to stress her out.

 

Perhaps it's meant to be, though. The three of them as close as they can be. Besides, amid his surprising distress that Mati was leaving in the morning, Aramis had seemed eager to go out with her. It may have been her imagination, but Anne liked to think that it was the same enthusiasm he showed when he spent holidays with her and the boy in the past. Of course it was. Aramis is adamant that he loves her and who knows what could have happened to them if he hadn't moved to Paris? Something wonderful?

 

Something wonderful is going to happen tonight anyway. She knows it. She's done dwelling over the past and what they didn't have. It's better to concentrate on what they _will_ have and create.

 

Anne wants to have fun and forget everything but the two of them with her. They even manage to make her nervosity disappear once she opens the front door. They may share her apprehension, their smiles are the brightest and it puts her at ease. They are her friends already. They're going to be more.

 

“What are those?” she asks when they are inside. Aramis takes a tentative step to kiss her cheek. Everything is so loaded tonight, even more than it's been this past couple of weeks.

 

“Flowers. For you.”

 

“But two bouquets?”

 

“Like I said. For you.”

 

Her hands are full of so many different varieties of colors, shapes, sizes and smells that Porthos wonders if she is aware of the bewildered look on her face as she gazes at it all. Then at them. She's pretty.

 

“There have to be perks to dating the two of us,” he hazards, then beams at her sparkling eyes and her sweet smile.

 

“Oh, I can think of a few more.”

 

Some of the flowers end up crushed between them as she tip-toes to kiss his cheek. Anne is only wearing one heel and the hand Porthos protectively puts on the small of her back is all that she needs to relax.

 

“Thank you. I'll find a vase. Sit down.”

 

“You're welcome,” Aramis comments, side-eyeing the bouquets dumped on his lap so Anne can tie her second shoe and rummage in the kitchen. She casts him a backward glance at the words, grinning.

 

Porthos sits by his side, their shoulders bumping and he kisses Aramis' cheek, smoothes the hair which couldn't be tammed.

 

They make a gorgeous picture, Anne decides. Such love and dedication even in the smallest gestures. Are they aware of it? Of what an amazing sight it is? How blessed she is to have been welcome. She'll do all that she can so they never regret their decision.

 

“You cleaned up nicely.”

 

“Is that supposed to mean we usually don't?” Aramis asks, offended. Porthos plays with the collar of his boyfriend's shirt and the loose tie he helped with.

 

“I spend my days in track pants but I like to think they're fashionable ones.”

 

“Oh, they are! But I've never seen Aramis wear a tie and I really like that jacket on you, Porthos. That's all.” Anne shrugs, busies herself with arranging the flowers.

 

“I do, too,” Aramis adds. “I helped choose it.”

 

“Invaluable help, 'mis.”

 

Another kiss on his boyfriend's smiling cheek and at last, Anne seems satisfied with the floral arrangement. She carries on talking about the restaurant she booked, even though Aramis is more transfixed by her dress, her flawless hair and he worries that she might catch a cold not wearing tights. It may be April, nights are chilly.

 

“You look pretty, Anne.” Porthos beats Aramis to it, gathering almost no courage to say the words.

 

“You look fabulous,” Aramis says, topping the compliment.

 

Anne smoothes the dress, gives a little laugh at Porthos visibly trying to come up with other adjectives.

 

“See? One more perk about dating you two. More compliments.”

 

Aramis hears the note of shyness in her voice. That won't do. There' nothing to be afraid of. He's been spending so long telling this to himself and to Porthos. And Anne knows it. That they won't do anything she doesn't want to do.

 

He stands up after she's finished fussing over her flowers. Anne starts a little at the hand on her hip.

 

“You haven't tied the bow in the back,” he remarks, holding up the string of blue fabric.

 

“I was going to ask one of you to please do it.”

 

“With great pleasure.”

 

It's all over in a few seconds, the warmth of his hands gone after having lingered more than necessary on her waist. Aramis drops one kiss on her head and Porthos has to notice how she briefly closes her eyes at the sensation.

 

“We're not wrecking our nerves tonight. Agreed?”

 

Aramis has moved on to holding her hand and Porthos has stood up to grab his boyfriend's right one. There is comfront in Aramis' touch and the softness of the words.

 

“We already know where we stand and what we more or less want out of it. We're taking it as slow as _you_ want, Anne. We're going to have fun because I love having you two with me and we'll see how it goes.”

 

“Yes,” Anne whispers, determined. She seals the deal by reaching for Porthos' fingers and she somehow ends up in the middle of a massive hug.

 

Anne's perfume is as enticing as her laughter or her kindness, Porthos thinks. He's empowered by what Aramis said, what they had agreed they woud make clear once more before heading out. He doesn't relinquish his hold on his boyfriend when they are in the street.

 

They've also agreed not to talk about Mati, which terrified his mother a little. He is her favorite and easiest topic to discuss. Without its safety, Anne is scared that she'll have nothing to talk about. It turns out to be untrue, though. It's effortless for the men to include them in other conversations. About work or about Constance. About their crazy colleagues or what they have planned for their next holidays.

 

They know so much about each other's life already. About their hobbies, what they don't like, what they couldn't live without. And yet Porthos keeps on discovering news things about her. The friends she left in Spain for starters. Some she had known from the fencing team who have reconnected with her and are coming to visit for her birthday in September. Or perhaps sooner if they can.

 

The restaurant is quiet and their table is small. Anne is the one sitting on the other side of it. She doesn't mind. She likes watching Porthos and Aramis sitting next to each other. She likes listening to the criticism that Aramis cannot quite make about the food because it is positively divine. And how Porthos steals some of his fish. How he also offers some from his own plate, not hesitating as he holds it up for her. Anne hasn't been so entertained with them in a long time.

 

She may never have been before. This is their absolute first time the three of them alone with no distraction but each other. Anne pauses between two sips of her wine, studying these two gorgeous men arguing about some random event which happened one day they were in the country with Athos. Porthos ends each of his sentences by pointing his fork at Aramis who frowns and shakes his head wildly. His fingers tap insistently on the table, until something must have clicked because he hangs his head and surrenders. Porthos' hand squeezes his boyfriend's thigh and their feet touch under the table.

 

Anne isn't so hungry anymore. She could feed on their affection and their cute exchanges. It doesn't matter if she can't contribute to this specific conversation. They're having it for her benefit.

 

“You were right,” Porthos comments, his lips brushing Aramis' ear.

 

“About?”

 

“Her eyes. They do pull you in when she's passionate about something.”

 

“Told you.”

 

Aramis leans against him. They've shared the best dessert he's had in years, although it might have been improved by the excellent company. Three forks digging in the cake but Anne quickly realizing they were taking tiny bites so she could enjoy it more. Until she told them it wouldn't do for the men to stuff her. The fact that the joke was delivered with a deadpan face followed by Anne laughing at their embarassed expressions was truly a sight to behold and cherish.

 

Aramis can't quite realize that going out with her can be so good. He only has bad memories of them dating yet in a couple of hours, he's starting to wonder why it was so. They are very good at it. She's still his best friend, one he's allowing himself to see with new eyes. Fresh eyes. Perhaps like Porthos does. It's all thanks to him.

 

Sure, Anne is remarkably pretty and a few heads turn on her way to the restrooms. Looks to which Porthos responds with such a growl that Aramis has to start. Given how Porthos stops and considers what he's just done, it must have puzzled him, too.

 

“Easy, tiger.”

 

“I don't know what came over me.”

 

“You've always been possessive of your people, sweetie.”

 

Porthos studies the other's face, finds no resentment there. Only the truth. Porthos has gotten better at it as far as Aramis is concerned. Is he going to have to go through the same process again for Anne? It means she means a great deal to him then. He reaches for the last of the wine in his glass and downs it. He's been feeling so great so far. No bouncing little boy to divert his attention. Aramis and Anne are such cheerful and attentive persons that it's been easy to have a date with two people. Who would have thought it? Although he hopes the night won't end soon, Porthos is already proud that he can do this. That he can treasure these two. He's been doing it for a long time.

 

A tremendous amount of little things urges him to love and care for them further. The sweet smiles and the way Anne always has to make sure that her hair is still in place. Her half-hearted arguments to not drink too much and the stories Aramis shares of when they were younger. All these little details they've been sharing about their life before Porthos. Including him, letting him know he is welcome in their past as he is in their future. That he is making them closer than they used to be.

 

The kiss he gives Aramis and the short sigh his boyfriend draws on his mouth. This, Porthos loves too much to admit.

 

“We should go dancing,” Anne suggests once she's back. “I've heard of a good jazz bar.”

 

“Dancing?” Aramis looks at her, looks at Porthos looking at her.

 

“Absolutely. Aren't you up for it?”

 

“.....I guess.” Porthos gapes a little.

 

It's a new side of her that he is discovering. They may have been behaving respectfully all through dinner, what she hopes for out of the date and the relationship is obvious. He's no idea how long it'll take them to make the first step but what ever doubt she might have had about how to navigate things, it's gone. She wants to have fun and it's refreshing to look at her like that.

 

“I'll ask for the check and we'll go.”

 

Porthos tries to get the attention of a waiter while Aramis chuckles at her determination and enthusiasm. Except that it's stopped short when she next speaks. In such a matter-of-fact voice that it first sounds like another joke.

 

“I've already paid it.”

 

“You did what? But why?” Porthos stutters, sitting back down. She is looking at them cheekily.

 

“This is a modern world. You can always pay next time.”

 

“Oh. So there _is_ going to be a next time?” Aramis can't help asking.

 

“If you still want me.”

 

“We always want you.” Aramis hardly lets her finish her sentence. Porthos nods to concur. “This is perfect.”

 

“It is. I can hardly believe it. I'm really happy.”

 

Anne hasn't felt that good in weeks.

 

“So was I until what you just did.” Porthos is still frowning.

 

Anne boldly presses her hand to his. She feels the knuckles flex and eventually relax. Porthos' skin is so soft.

 

“It saved us time. You two would have likely argued over the check for too long.”

 

“We wouldn't have!” is the chorus answer. They both pause, consider it. Aramis doesn't like it either. There's no point arguing with Anne, though. He knows that.

 

“Maybe we would have,” Aramis concedes. “But in the end, one of us would have gotten it.”

 

“You can buy me drinks at the bar. Come on. Dancing!”

 

“What has gotten into the Anne I know?” Porthos asks.

 

She's already halfway out of the restaurant, heels clicking on the wooden floor. Aramis shakes his head.

 

“She hasn't gone out on a date she actually enjoys to its fullest in forever, I suppose. That and the wine.”

 

“I like it.”

 

“Me too. I was so worried she'd waste her life.”

 

“And now she won't, cupcake. She has us.” Porthos pulls Aramis closer, one arm circling his waist. Aramis rests his head against his arm. “Look at her.”

 

“Yes. She's still bossy.”

 

Porthos snorts, offers his other arm to Anne when they finally join her outside. She looks at it for a brief moment, looks at Aramis' calm face and the nod she'll require anytime his boyfriend is concerned. And this won't stop till their boundaries have been established.

 

When she links her arm with Porthos' and feels herself being pulled along, the warm feeling she's experienced whenever she's spent time with the men lately blooms under her skin. It was dormant during dinner or even in her appartment. Testing the waters of this unknown territory. It's bubbling up now. The joy she's prevented herself from feeling for the sake of her son and her family taking over. For the sake of Aramis. Holding herself back because it was better for them in the long run. Except that this has now shifted.

 

Anne keeps on clinging to Porthos long after Aramis has broken free from his boyfriend's embrace once they are in the bar waiting for a table. He's hot against her, deep soothing tones washing over Aramis and her as he realizes he's never come to such a place. This isn't his type of music at all. So Porthos is more than content to stay at the counter with his drink while Anne has requested a partner and Aramis obliges her.

 

Whereas Porthos could be bothered by how people looked at Anne in the restaurant, he feels nothing but happiness at watching the other two dancing. Anne's arms around Aramis' neck and his around her waist. Even from the distance Porthos sees how Aramis holds back. They don't really know how to dance properly, swaying a bit on their feet, hardly moving from their spot. Porthos is captivated by the way their lips move around a conversation he can't hear. How they pull into smiles when they are not moving. How Anne loosens Aramis' tie even more. How she laughs quietly, leans forward to rest her forehead on Aramis' shoulder and thus huddles possibly closer at the soft kiss on her hair. Aramis' arms tighten on her.

 

Porthos takes a long sip, finds his boyfriend's eyes when he looks at them again.

 

He makes out the _I love you_ Aramis mouths, draws reassurance from it. They may have behaved like this in the past, close and cosy, comfortable with one another, Anne and Aramis certainly didn't once Porthos was involved with him. It must be a relief to fall back into habits they need and crave. Porthos knows how well Anne must feel in these wonderful arms and yet he isn't jealous. Because they are _both_ with him. They both want him. Just like the men always want Anne with them.

 

“ _This is nice, too,”_ Anne says, looking up. Aramis smiles down at her.

 

Her fingers are grazing his hair. Such boldness in these few minutes but the pressure of his hands on her lower back are a certain hint that they are both fumbling and attempting to ascertain their new positions.

 

“ _We used to do this when Mati was a baby.”_

 

“ _I remember. When we were too tired to go out. Not that anyone would have gone out with us.”_

 

“ _I'm glad you're seeing the girls again. From fencing.”_

 

“ _I am, too.”_

 

“ _Think of all the gossip you'll have to catch up on!”_

 

Anne's laughter is so earnest that it fills his lungs and lifts him up. She's more than pretty or fabulous. She's splendid. Outstanding. The blue earrings which shine in the dim light and the stray lock of hair he has to put behind her ear.

 

“ _I've been wondering...,”_ Aramis starts. _“Why it didn't work out back then? Us.”_

 

“ _We were having a baby. I was so worried I wouldn't be able to finish my degree. Being romantically involved with someone, as handsome and charming as you are, it wasn't a priority.”_

 

“ _Yes, but after. We could have tried. We're great at it, or so it seems. It even isn't as strange as I thought it could be.”_

 

Anne draws back, cocks her head. Aramis shakes his.

 

“ _Not that_ you _are strange, Anne. I had simply given up on us that way. After all this time.”_

 

“ _Would you have liked it? To try again?”_

 

His tiny nod takes time to arrive. Aramis is actually quite surprised by the realization as well. This is new. It's been brewing since their big fight and epiphany, but it's still very much new.

 

“ _I always claim we were terrible at it,”_ he says.

 

“ _We were!”_

 

“ _And yet it only made me love you more. I've no idea when I actually fell for you. Or if it can be called like this. But now I do. I guess at the time we both wanted to protect Mati and ourselves. Better not to try anything than to ruin it all.”_

 

“ _Even if we didn't do it as a couple, do you remember all that we used to do? All the fairs and the theatre and the restaurants? Going out as friends but not quite so either? All our holidays even with this little baby?_ ”

 

So many memories that she has of Aramis. Heightened by not seeing him often when he moved to Paris. The nights missing him, talking long after their son had been put to bed. The drinks and the cigarettes she'd try to hide on their vacations.

 

How they would alternate not going to class to watch their baby. The force of it hits her now, looking at Aramis, his arms wrapped around her, making her swing a bit faster at the new song and lighter rhythm.

 

Aramis waiting for her at university, standing under the porch with his umbrella and Mati against his chest. Only a few months old, sleeping, blissfully unaware of how emotional it made his mother to have someone who wasn't just her best friend but a person much more meaningful coming to greet her after a hard day of boring lectures. And who had taken her sweet boy along for the ride.

 

Anne cannot quite say when she realized she loved Aramis either. It's all the days of their life fuelling the sentiment. But never, ever, she would have acted on it. She needed Porthos to trigger it.

 

“ _Aramis? Do you suppose we've actually_ been _dating for all of these years?”_

 

“ _Without realizing it? We're not that thick.”_

 

“ _I've been thinking a lot, which must be quite common when you're embarking in this type of adventure. We've done lots as a family and I love it. But I also love this.”_ She touches his arm. _“You've always made me feel better and you're so nice. I really enjoy it.”_

 

“ _So do I. And it's only our first official date, the three of us. But we are doing a good job.”_ His smile is quite ardent. _“We may not be horrible at it this time around. Us, I mean. Together. Porthos is fantastic at it, you'll see.”_

 

“ _We're older now. Wiser, perhaps? We function. We click. You and I, but also Porthos. I, for one, wouldn't mind trying again. With you. Just like I want to try with Porthos. That's why I'm here after all.”_

 

Her blush lights her cheeks in an adorable way. Aramis has to bend down and kiss it. He does it a second time when his lips stay there and her hands grip the collar of his shirt, fingernails grazing the skin on the nape of his neck.

 

Apparently they've been rather thick.

 

He could. He definitely could love her more. It's overwhelming to think that it's possible. He's doing it so much already. Knowing that she wants _him_ like that, as much as she wants them both together, it's emboldening. Aramis won't waste this part of her life either. She's his Anne, the precious woman he's spent so many years with. His love may only have been through friendship because it was safer. Now he can try adding more to it. Without really changing a lot. This is an amazing night.

 

“Porthos has found a table!” Anne waves at him, Aramis looking behind his shoulder. Porthos isn't bored at all. They are giving him quite a show. Aramis' backside is the highlight of it. “He's been feeling better, hasn't he?”

 

“Totally. And he was very excited about tonight so it helped. He may not show it much but he is. He likes you _a lot_.”

 

Aramis stresses it because the force of Porthos' feelings were a shock for his boyfriend but also for himself. Once the possibility that Anne could become a part of their relationship had been brushed, it's flooded in him without restraint, filling a void Porthos wasn't even aware he had. He believed Aramis was all he needed. If two weeks can uncover such powerful feelings, he hopes they'll never die down.

 

“He wants all the love he can have,” Aramis goes on. “I think it's an actual craving from how he grew up. He's been rather unlucky before, with his relationships and...”

 

“I know. He told me the day I....I mean, _that_ day.” This time, Anne does blush with good reason. It was a stupid thing to act on what she thought she felt for Porthos like this, without warning or invitation. Her kiss may have led them to today, she'll never stop being mortified by it.

 

“He doesn't trust easily, that's why. And he's a bit possessive when he does.”

 

“I know. He told me that, too. On Wednesday. He said it's been a problem with you in the past.”

 

“Not a problem. We spoke about it before it became one. It's good you're talking. It's good if you also do more.”

 

Anne blushes again. It seems she cannot keep a straight face on. Aramis doesn't make fun of her, simply repeats what he's just promised. No one will be jealous of anyone anymore.

 

“We'll see. I'm comfortable like that for the moment. It's already more than I expected. And he looks beyond happy with you.”

 

Aramis looks at Porthos again. Smiles and tips his head to invite him along. Porthos shakes his head.

 

“We've decided to....we're getting a civil partnership.”

 

“What?” At least two couples glance in reaction to her shrill.

 

Aramis is still on cloud nine thinking about their decision. They haven't made an appointment yet but it doesn't mean it isn't happening. To officially be related to Porthos, it's thrilling and deeply wanted.

 

Anne stops moving, hugs him fiercely. Then pulls him along toward his boyfriend. That she hugs as well. Porthos awkwardly pats her back to thank her until she sits next to him. All he can see is her radiant smile.

 

“Aramis told me. Congratulations! You should have said something earlier! We need more drinks to celebrate!”

 

She springs back to her feet as quickly as she'd sat down. And vanishes in the crowd towards the bartender, leaving Aamis to explain what is happening. They are kissing when Anne comes back, her hands full of champagne and new glasses. She is genuinely excited for them because it means a lot for their couple, but also for their family and their future. The bubbles make her eyes water yet she goes back for more.

 

Porthos' clear glee is so understandable. From what she's gathered about him, to move forward like this is a remarkable achievement. Anne is mesmerized by the tale of how it happened three days beforehand. Porthos and Aramis' sentences overlap. They try to play it as the normal development of their life together, yet they are gripping each other's hand, fingernails digging into Porthos' palm. They are both completely overwhelmed by it. More by what it will entitle regarding Mati. Their resolution to not mention him is bypassed for a while.

 

“If it's okay with you, of course,” Porthos finishes, explaining why they also want to sign these papers. So that one day, he could perhaps adopt Mati and be an actual father to the child along with his natural ones. It's dizzying and he's been wanting it more and more. With this and his growing intimacy with Anne, it would be overwhelming and greatly frightening if he didn't trust them all with his life.

 

“If what is okay?” Anne asks. This is very good champagne.

 

“Us. Doing this because we want to, but also for your son.”

 

“Of course it is! Porthos, you gained the right to be more than a terrific stepfather long ago. He _adores_ you. Staying with you, having someone else to charm and con.”

 

“That's what I've been saying. We're incredibly lucky we've found you.” Porthos' beard tickles Aramis' lips. “It doesn't bother you then?”

 

“Why should it? I'm extremely happy for you.”

 

“Because we want to move forward as a couple at the same time as we're trying to build something with you, Anne.”

 

“That's fine!” Anne exclaims, maybe louder than necessary. “You still want me no matter what. And you do your own loving things the two of you. As long as you want to include me in some of it, I'm more than content with it all.”

 

She's rewarded by two eager nods and Aramis' kiss lands so close to the corner of her mouth. Whether it was planned or not, whether it's the drink making her imagination run wild, Anne _likes_ it. All of it.

 

“We need more of this.” The bottle is empty and yet, they are having such good fun that they can't stop there. She's having the time of her life.

 

“I'm on it,” Aramis says.

 

No sooner has he left that Anne reaches for Porthos, hugs him so tight. Big, strong hands close on her back and she does indeed smell very good. With the addition of the chocolate from dessert and the fruity flavor of the champagne. It's warm in his arms and Anne will always be thankful that now she is allowed to bury herself in them without feeling guilty. She has to shiver at the lips on her skin.

 

“It means a lot to me that you're accepting it,” Porthos confesses. Anne can't focus on anything but his dimples, his dark and penetrating eyes. So black and yet so thankful. “That you're accepting us.”

 

“You're accepting _me_. And you're giving me a chance to have something I had almost given up on.”

 

Love, affection, companionship, deep understanding. They share it all already.

 

“You deserve to be loved, Anne. I guess....If I can help with that, then....Dating was never like this for me so I don't know but...” Porthos closes his eyes, shakes his head. “It was more...since I wasn't looking for anything serious, it was more about finding.....hmmm....”

 

“People to sleep with?” Anne supplies, seeing how embarassed he seems to grow. This is unlike the Porthos she first knew, so confident. Fragile only when it comes to feelings. So if he is with her, she knows it means she has truly gained a spot in his heart.

 

“Yes. Which should have been the same with Aramis but here we are two years later and now you're there as well and it's a great night and I suppose in the end, I can do it. I've accepted Aramis' love after all. I can do it with you, too.”

 

Porthos has almost no word for how exceptionally well the evening in unfolding. And his life as a consequence. Kissing, cuddling Aramis, laughing at his stupid jokes. That's something he's used to. It never gets old. It's been embellised by the fabulousness that is Anne. With her beauty, her light. Her kindness and her honesty. Porthos can hardly comprehend that he could have it all. That he'd want to kiss her properly like he does with his boyfriend. Because she deserves it, that she might be open to it. She looks so at ease, which had been missing from their previous interactions since she moved to Paris. There was always something holding them back.

 

Discretion and acceptance of what they meant for Aramis. Carefulness not to overstep limits. Porthos is pleased there seems to be none anymore.

 

Anne timidly brushes a finger on Porthos' cheek, over his eyes all the way down to his neck. A light touch which soothes and re-affirms that he is making the right choice taking a chance with her, too. Aramis would have never believed Anne to be so forward early on. Or perhaps it isn't early. They haven't done anything in the proper order. Any of them. Porthos doesn't mind how wrapped up they are in each other, oblivious to the crowd. Aramis would give the world to his boyfriend. He ponders what title Anne may assume one day. The thought makes him hurry up to join them. With one hand on Porthos' back, he incidentally touches Anne's and this, also, is fine.

 

Her eyes shine up.

 

“We should go dancing! To celebrate!”

 

They both stare at her. Is she drunk? She doesn't appear to be. Memory loss? Unlikely.

 

“Isn't it what we've been doing?”

 

“I mean, real dancing. In a club. Porthos doesn't fancy it here.”

 

“Now, I....no....I didn't....”

 

“It's all right. You don't have to justify yourself. We came here for me and it's nice but I want to dance with you, too.” Anne taps on Porthos' chest. “On a music that you actually enjoy.”

 

“I enjoyed watching you. You were a great distraction.”

 

“Besides,” Anne continues, filling glasses, cheering and sampling the new bottle, “it's what we used to do for Aramis' birthday. Early celebration for this as well.” She checks her phone. It isn't midnight yet.

 

“We haven't done this in ages!”

 

“Which is a shame. All the more reasons to go!”

 

“I'm with her on this,” Porthos concurs. “We should reacquaint you with this great tradition. I want to dance with you, too, 'mis.”

 

With Anne's hand still holding on to his tee-shirt, clutching a handful of it, Porthos turns toward his boyfriend and kisses him. Sweetly. For a long time. Lips moving together perfectly, one hand pulling Aramis closer in the kiss. The taste of alcohol rubbing against Porthos' tongue. Delicious.

 

Anne's nails have somehow moved up to Porthos' neck, studying and testing. Waiting for a sign to stop. There'll be none coming from him. He's made it obvious. Anne is testing her own limits and desires. She has plenty of those.

 

Aramis comes out of the kiss drunker from passion than from champagne, even if his next glass helps settle his racing heart. All of a sudden he quite wants to dance with Porthos. Somewhere rather dark and in a large crowd of people so horny and inebriated that nobody will pay them any mind, no matter their dancing or how close they are. Porthos' meaningful look tells him the same idea is groing through his mind.

 

Anne also has a faint idea of what this next dancing could be. By the time they do find a good club and gain access to it, she is definitely tipsier than she's been in years and it gives her surroundings a gentle glow. She's more attracted to the two boyfriends, perhaps because she has to stand closer to hear what they have to say. The music is incredibly louder than in the jazz bar.

 

She never wants the night to end because she was correct. Porthos does like this music better. He's been proving it while dancing with Aramis. A vision surpassing everything else. Anne was compelled to stay away because they were just too handsome together, regardless of the catchy tune and the lascivious lyrics.

 

Aramis with his arms in the air. With his back to Porthos and one hand dropped so low on his stomach that Anne suddenly feels hotter and has to look away. Better place than the jazz club, hands down. Porthos with his hands in Aramis' hair, tipping his chin up to kiss him. The way he tuggs on Aramis' swollen lips with his teeth. Aramis' face against his shoulder, sucking the skin of his neck. Finding her looking at them and merely grinning. He's too wrapped up in Porthos' magnificent moves and body to worry about what Anne may think.

 

She literally cannot pull her eyes away. The way their legs move. How they seem to rub against each other, ignoring the other dancers. Some could be doing far worse after all. Anne isn't interested in them. Only in Porthos and Aramis. The hands sneaking to Porthos' ass, dipping in the back pockets of his pants and how Aramis leans to whisper something in his ear. Anne can actually see Aramis' pink tongue licking Porthos when he's done talking. She couldn't watch them all night. She'd implode if she did. They are much more than what she expected. Not holding back anymore when she's around. It's making her picture things.

 

“Why don't you go with Aramis? He says you like this song.”

 

Porthos has come out of nowhere, lost that she was in her daydream. He's breathing hard, standing all but flushed to her. His fingers are scolding hot on her skin. This is better than worrying about feelings. To be together in different settings. She's been learning more by watching than by talking.

 

Anne takes a sip of her soft drink, realizes it must be Porthos' because of the whiskey in it, and almost spits it back. Her throat burns. He's looking at her with a laughing spark in his eyes. He hands her the good glass, watches her take a tentative sip, then a larger one, then the glass is empty and she's stridden toward his boyfriend.

 

Porthos finishes his own drink, thankful for the respite. Dancing with Aramis is doing so many things to him that he needs to breathe out a little. It's stuffy and it smells like sweat and spilled alcohol, but at least he's nowhere near his boyfriend so that's enough to calm down. They so rarely go out to such places that every time they do, Porhos always manages to forget then remember that he loves Aramis for being a tease, but that it's also a problem when they cannot act on it at once.

 

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

 

The stranger has appeared out of the blue, blocking Porthos's view of the other two. He looks him up and down, much like the man is doing. He surveys the grin and the neat face. The charming eyes and the attitude Porthos must have actually assumed so many times in the past.

 

“You could....but you'd just be doing that. Not that I'm not flattered.” Porthos is. He'll always be that people could be interested in him. It was so rare when he was younger. “But I'm already with them.”

 

He points above the guy's shoulder to Anne laughing while Aramis makes her twirl, never letting go of her hands afterwards. Their fingers threaded together and her hair now more or less down. She puts all the other girls in skimpy outfits in the shade. Her dress ruffles around her legs. Aramis has somewhat lost the ability to look at anything else but her face. Porthos has no idea what they talked about earlier, their dance going on for so long. Not that it matters to him. What does is that things are clearer and they can move on to something more interesting. Which seems to be exactly what is happening.

 

Again, Porthos has never gone out with Anne, he has no idea how they used to behave before he came in the picture, yet, he can feel the dynamics between them changing.

 

“Oh.” The stranger's face falls as he gets it. He looks from them to Porthos. “They're hot.” They are. It must be all of this Spanish blood. “Well, then. Enjoy your night.”

 

He's gone in search of another potential hook-up before Porthos can say it back. He will. Enjoy it. It's what makes him go back to the dancefloor, to his boyfriend and Anne. Aramis beams up at him, throws his arms around his neck and kisses him full on the mouth.

 

“Some random dude told me you were hot. Both of you. I agree.”

 

He plants his hands on Aramis' hips, feels them sway as the other shifts closer, two hands flat on Porthos' chest.

 

“We are. Come on.”

 

Aramis spins around, careful in his excitement that Anne is never ignored. She didn't mind the kissing or the groping, all focused that she was on dancing. She nonetheless welcomes Aramis back. His burning hands and the softness of the fingers rubbing against her sweating palms. It's been too long since she went out like this. They'll have to do it often, she screams in his ear, both hands safely on his shoulders. Her feet are beginning to ache. It's too much fun, she yells again. Aramis puts one arm around her waist. Just in case.

 

He's missed Anne who isn't solely a mother, or a hard-working person on her way to becoming a curator. He's missed Anne who could let go and actually act like a young woman. He had almost started to forget how she could loosen up. Always in control, yet able to forget all of her troubles for a few hours.

 

Aramis is about to reach for Porthos who must be close by to thank him for giving him this Anne back. He's sure now that it's thanks to his boyfriend. If he hadn't met him, he wouldn't have stayed in Paris. Anne and Mati wouldn't have moved to the city. Porthos wouldn't have blossomed into the fantastic man that he is. Not that he wasn't when Aramis first met him. But his new role and their new relationship have helped him improve. If Aramis hadn't met him, though, Porthos wouldn't have fallen for Anne either, they wouldn't have moved forward to today.

 

They all did willingly. They all need it.

 

Porthos and Anne because they demand a love they so seldom received in the past, neglected or withdrawn that they were. Aramis because he has so much love to give to the world. To people who truly deserve it. Be it to two persons at the same time.

 

But Porthos is not where Aramis expected him to be, though. He's been watching them, catching glimpses of their faces, of Anne's eyes looking for him.

 

“I'll show you how to properly dance.”

 

His voice startles her. It's closer than she assumed. Loud in her ear even if it's only a whisper. Anne can't help the shivers at the hands splayed on her hips. Her dress is too thin and Porthos' body behind her is too close, too hot. Too close and yet Aramis is happy to give her her hands back. Which he does by putting them on top of Porthos'.

 

Anne looks shocked and lost for a second, until there's a thumb rubbing on her skin.

 

“Is that okay?”

 

Now, it is. This is Porthos. He's a dancer. He makes money dancing. She's comfortable with him. More now than when they didn't quite know where they stood. Aramis looks okay with it, as well. When they'll talk about it later, he'll tell her that watching his boyfriend with her sent his heart into overdrive. It sent hers, too.

 

She can feel Porthos' face pressed to her hair, his lips moving against her ear. What he says, she has no idea. She's too busy experiencing all these feelings to make out words. Her head is spinning and she's aware it isn't because of the drink. She hasn't had enough for that. It's all because of Porthos and Aramis looking at them.

 

The heat, the beat, the fingers clutching her own, how effortless it is to match Porthos' rhythm. How she can feel his chest on her back but somehow nothing below. How thoughtful he is to never make her uncomfortable. How she has to gasp and step away after the song is over because these two minutes have become the most intense of her entire existence.

 

How she still can't let go of Porthos' hand.

 

How he grips her fingers as if she was going to vanish.

 

How Aramis kisses her temple, kisses her cheek, grins at her and tells her that he loves them.

 


	7. The Board Game

There's a slight drizzle falling on the city. It's the middle of the night but the streets are still bustling with people. Aramis watches tiny raindrops in front of a street light, bathed in the orange glow, crashing on the pavement. Almost disappearing before they even touch down. Not enough to form puddles. Not enough to bother them as they stand in front of the nightclub, waiting. The drops wet his forehead once in a while. Then the smoke blows in front of him and he takes another drag of his cigarette. Aramis needs the relief if he doesn't want to burst from all the fuzzy feelings washing over him. It's so effortless and natural to be with Porthos and Anne. He closes his eyes.

 

Only the rumble of Porthos' voice can make him open them again. Aramis is tired.

 

“You better finish it before Anne gets here.”

 

Aramis can only agree. Anne will give him hell if she catches him. Porthos doesn't comment on the occasional cigarettes anymore. Aramis very rarely smokes, only when they are out and he has drunk a little. It's his life after all and besides, it can't harm his body as much as smoking every day used to. Porthos nonetheless stays a few feet away. He buries his hands in his pockets, watches his boyfriend clearly enjoying it, then discarding the cigarette quickly so he can close the gap between them.

 

“I'm tired,” he says, breathing tobacco in Porthos' mouth. Nothing will stop him from kissing his boyfriend. He rests his head on Porthos' chest, waits for the safe hands on his back to sigh.

 

“You're getting too old for all this excitement.”

 

Aramis tuts at the joke, feels the chest under his cheek shake with laughter. The hand petting his hair nearly makes him moan.

 

“Happy birthday, 'mis.”

 

“I couldn't have asked for a better way to celebrate. I feel like it's a dream. That I'm going to wake up and Anne won't be one of us.”

 

“It won't happen. It's all real. Just like this.”

 

To prove his point, Porthos tugs on Aramis' hair the way he always does to get his attention. When that's done, Aramis finds the following kiss uplifting. Soft lips and tongue. Porthos lazy yet thorough. Aramis keeps his balance by hooking his fingers with the other's belt.

 

“For the record, though, I'm still not convinced that it's actually happening either,” Porthos says. “That she's one of us, like you said. I like the sound of that. I can't quite understand that we are all so comfortable around each other. I just hope....that it wasn't too much for her.”

 

“What was?”

 

“Dancing like we did. Maybe it was too forward.”

 

“I didn't hear her complaining. She wanted it or she would have stopped you. She wants us, Porthos.”

 

“Yeah.” He exhales a big shuddering breath, holds Aramis closer.

 

It was too compelling to ignore: the pure attraction on the dancefloor to step close to Anne, to hold her in his arms, to feel her move against him. Yes, she'd enjoyed it, in spite of the first minutes of awkwardness.

 

“Besides, she's the one who came back for more, isn't it?” Aramis remarks. “Believe me, we are all good. I'm still tired and I wish she'd hurry up,” he adds, glancing at the entrance, failing to spot blond hair exiting the club, “but we're fine.”

 

“I'm a little, too. Tired. It's exhausting to talk about feelings.”

 

Aramis smiles up at him, leans forward, arms around Porthos' neck now. His eyelids are heavy, but underneath them, Porthos sees all this fantastic love and trust they are forever building and consolidating. He's so lucky. First to have found a familly in Tréville after having given up on one. And then to have found actual profund love with his boyfriend. Certainly with somebody else as well. It's not the too many drinks making him light-headed this time.

 

“I'm prouf of us, sweetie.” Aramis yawns, fights the hand on his mouth pushing him away.

 

Anne is greeted by Porthos' earnest laughter on her way out. Her shoes are killing her, her hair itches and smells horrible. She's terribly thirsty and one look in the dirty bathroom mirror was enough to notice that her make-up is ruined. It's the dead of the night, though, and she's had such a good time that it doesn't matter. The men smile back with tired eyes anyway. She wants to go home and relive all the wonderful hours in her dreams.

 

She should be nervous that her life is taking a peculiar turn, that she'll likely have to argue to make people understand her choices. People don't matter for the time being. They won't matter for quite some time.

 

All that Anne cares about is Porthos thanking her as she hands him his jacket from the cloakroom, Aramis asking if she needs another one to stay warm on top of her cardigan. And the hand he slides in hers so they can get going. He's a safe support by her side, silent for most of the ride to their neighborhood. He buries himself under Porthos' arm in the subway, giving Anne yet another cute image to store in her memories. It's too late to be thinking of further developments in their relationship, no matter how impatient she is for them. Tonight is the best proof that they can do it, all of them together. She keeps hearing fragments of Aramis and Porthos' declarations to her. Little words showing that she is important and that they cannot _not_ have her with them. Promises that things will get better. Carefulness in their feelings and how they express them.

 

Anne wouldn't have imagined that somehow, three persons could understand one another so perfectly, in spite of their differences and their own struggles.

 

She wants to push her love for Aramis further. Everything in him is urging her to do it. Watching him with Porthos also triggered the change. To see him so happy and at ease with his life. Radiating joy much more than he had done in the past. Added to his natural qualities and charm, was it what prompted the quiet stirring in her heart? Whatever it was, Anne is done questioning it, fighting it.

 

Life is waiting for her with open arms, hopefully quite strong, athletic and hot ones. Also, she is exhausted. Everytime she yawns, her eyes water. Maybe this last beer was a mistake.

 

Anne almost stumbles in her sleepiness once they are in front of the men's building. Aramis eyes her with concern and so does Porthos. She yawns again, untangles some of her hair before telling them goodnight. She doesn't want to.

 

“Perhaps....Why don't you....come home with us instead?” Aramis hazards. It's a hesitating request, the one thing he has been the most afraid to ask this entire evening.

 

Anne squints, draws back with wide eyes. Porthos can see the blush creeping from her cheeks down to her neck. She clutches her scarf to it and he can't make out her rosy skin anymore.

 

“What? No...I don't...It's been great but no....It's....too soon.”

 

“What?” This doesn't make sense to Aramis. It's almost five in the morning. By his standards, it's very late. Then it downs on him. “No! No! That's not what I meant! Not in bed. Sorry. But you're a bit...tipsy, Anne.”

 

“What if I am?”

 

“We don't mind this,” Porthos comes to the rescue. “I think that I am, too. What I think Aramis is trying to say is that you're very tired and we've all drunk and our appartment is right here. You're welcome to sleep on the couch.”

 

“Yes, that's what I meant.” Bless his boyfriend for reading his mind.

 

Anne chuckles awkwardly, embarassed in her drowsiness to have jumped to the wrong conclusions.

 

“I wouldn't want to....”

 

“If you finish that sentence saying you don't want to impose on us, I'll have Porthos throw you over his shoulder and carry you upstairs.”

 

“Nah. I won't do that. Too much effort.”

 

Porthos makes a face, finds the idea repulsive. Absolutely not because it's Anne, but simply because it would require him to probably break a sweat. Porthos' pouting makes Anne smile and relax. She's still unsure what to do, staring at them both, one hand on Aramis' shoulder so she doesn't collapse.

 

“If you really don't want to,” Aramis adds, realizing it was perhaps a too daring suggesting no matter how perfect the night has been, “we'll walk you home instead.”

 

Anne does frown at this, Porthos silently cursing his boyfriend for this offer. It'll extend their walk of about twenty minutes. Thus pushing back the moment when he can slip into bed. She must be thinking the same since she surrenders, obviously too exhausted to argue. Not even the drinks will make her do reckless things tonight, but the thought that fluffy sheets and pillows are awaiting her a few floors above her head is enticing. Her legs feel like lead and she doesn't want to walk anymore.

 

Instead, she hops a bit, manages to take off her shoes and sighs with deep relief when her feet are once again flat on the ground. The heels dangle from her hand as she follows Aramis inside, the prospect of sleep so promising that it's only when she is in their living room that she realizes she can't quite sleep in her dress. Well, she _could,_ but then it'd probably be ruined.

 

“I'll get you a tee-shirt. You're so tiny, it'll be like another more comfortable dress.”

 

Porthos deposits the shoes he has been holding for her since waiting for the elevator next to the couch that Aramis has hastily prepared. All the while making sure that Anne didn't fall asleep on her feet. She stifles a yawn, then a second. She almost doesn't react to Aramis giving her a quick kiss on the forehead when he's done, and Anne lies down on the couch. Perhaps her own dress can act as nightwear after all.

 

Aramis falls on the bed face first when they are sure she will be all right. Porthos watches him, clothes around the room and his boyfriend's bare back heaving with the delighted moaning he's making. Porthos closes the door and does about the same. They could totally fall asleep right there, on top of the sheets. Aramis' body by his side, warm and soft and Porthos' arm thrown across the other's back.

 

“We get to sleep in tomorrow,” Aramis mumbles, turns a dishevelled head toward Porthos and is rewarded by a nod as ecstatic as he'll get at that time of the day.

 

Porthos' only answer is to grope and pull Aramis flush against him. Aramis relaxes in his arms, stretches and listens to the silence in the appartment. Anne must have fallen asleep already. He's glad she's accepted to come. After all, they had agreed that they would spend his birthday together. Doing what, he has no idea. Neither her nor Porthos wants to spill the secrets. Whatever it is, the simple fact that Aramis does get to spend hours with them is enough.

 

Once upon a time, he would have wanted to be with many friends for this special day. To have a big party and then enjoy his boyfriend's company in private. Having only him and Anne is more than sufficient now. He can always see his friend another time. These two are _his_ people and Anne belongs so much as it is. She always did. And Aramis will have Porthos to himself at some point.

 

Like he is doing right now, snuggled in the dark under the blankets because let's face it, it's cozier there. Porthos' chest rises against his cheek. Aramis feels the shivers under the pads of his fingers while they rub back and forth on his boyfriend's skin. Porthos loves to be touched like that. He also loves touching, his fingernails grazing Aramis' shoulder proving it.

 

His mind is too clouded to reflect on what Anne thought would happen if she came upstairs with them. It nonetheless sparks some thrill in Aramis' heart, along with...Not fear. Or apprehension. He's no idea when they'll get there but they will. And he thinks he wants it. He'd refused to think of Anne in that way and yet, he'd also never conceived that he might want to actually date her again. It won't spoil anything. She was sexy when she was dancing with Porthos. She was attractive in a way Aramis couldn't picture Anne before.

 

She's not solely a mother now. Not that it was only how he saw her in the past. Aramis has always made it pretty clear that he wanted her to have a life of her own. To be a girlfriend to someone and still be Mati's mother. He would insist on it even when _he_ wasn't dating anyone either. She deserved happiness outside of motherhood, regardless of how she would reply that she was fine, that her hands were full.

 

They still are, except that Aramis is more present to help. And that he's brought back-up. Anne is beginning to create a life of her own, he realizes. She's been since moving to Paris. Trying not to invade the men's privacy, trying to show the boy some balance. Yet, steadily, she's drifted back to Aramis, back to them. She's made mistakes which only proved that how ever hard she believed she wasn't cut out for an exceptional and fulfilling romantic life, she actually is. It won't be as conventional as people would expect. But then again, when have they ever been conventional?

 

“Hey, Porthos?”

 

“What?”

 

“It's been a very long time since I thought so but...Anne was very hot. Dancing with you.”

 

Porthos answers with a nod and a grunt. She was.

 

“She just looked so happy,” Aramis goes on. “She was enjoying herself so much and the way she moved. I mean, she can't dance. Her parents made her take lessons when she was younger so she can waltz and what-not but...”

 

“Can she now?”

 

“Yep. She tried to teach me. I'm not good at it. Exactly like she isn't that good in a nightclub with modern music. It still made it hotter to watch. Because she didn't care about silly moves and then you came along and....wow.”

 

Porthos chuckles, squeezes Aramis' shoulder. Aramis props himself up on an elbow, tries to find the beacon of his boyfriend's eyes in the darkness.

 

“It wasn't quite the time but now, I'm thinking back on it and really, how you made her move and how she held on to you, it was....hard to watch without doing anything.”

 

Porthos squirms at the fingers on his lower stomach, and it's not helped by Aramis' luscious whispers. He loves this feeling of Aramis in need and stating it loud and clear without actually saying anything explicit. His actions are all that Porthos requires. The quiet kisses in his neck, soft and never-ending. The beard tickling a skin which is still sweaty. His foot sliding up Porthos' bare leg, rubbing. And the fingers dipping in his underwear.

 

“Aramis....”

 

“What? I told you. You made me all hot and bothered and I couldn't act on it back then.”

 

He traces the hem of Porthos' briefs, feels the warm and round skin of his ass, kneads the flesh until Porthos groans and pulls his boyfriend half on top of him. His crotch right against Porthos' as he pushes himself up to kiss the other. Porthos grunts in his mouth, not so sleepy anymore. Turned on by Aramis' rather vivid description of what he would have liked to do to his boyfriend in the club if he had been allowed. A follow-up of what Aramis kept on suggesting while they were dancing. Porthos' hands are sizzling hot on his hips. Porthos' legs keep him trapped flushed against him.

 

All of this, mixed with the recollection of Anne's body pressed to his, her arms around his neck and his on her waist, her back to his chest, moving incoherently, it's a bit too much. It already was when they were dancing and being aware that it had the same effect on Aramis, it makes Porthos' heart and mind surrender to his boyfriend's care. Not so tired anymore. At all.

 

Aramis doesn't let go of his mouth, attacks it with surprising force. His tongue rolls around Porthos', pushes deeper in his mouth. Just like he pushes Porthos deeper onto the mattress, rubbing a hardening cock through two thin layers of fabric.

 

“I could have watched you forever,” Aramis rasps in Porthos' ear, swollen lips brushing it. Porthos arches his back. “The way you roll your hips and that hand, so, so low. Tell me. What would you have done next?”

 

Porthos moans, effectively rolls his hips again. He knows for a fact that Aramis talking is enough to make him hard. This and the fingers roaming his chest, circling a nipple. He rakes his nails down Aramis' back, brings him lower against his crotch, feels the complete length of his boyfriend's cock. Porthos' doesn't stop until he's pushed Aramis' underwear down a bit and his hands palm his ass. Rough and urgent. Aramis has to bite his lips to keep from crying out. They're not alone and all of a sudden, it gives a new exciting edge to what they are doing. Heat rushes underneath his skin, coils in his guts. He grinds against Porthos.

 

“I would have done that,” Porthos answers, turning them around, letting underwear be discarded at the end of the bed.

 

Aramis' cock is full in his fist and Porthos isn't that gentle as he strokes it up and down, Aramis' fingernails digging in his shoulder. Porthos stifles moans with his tongue until Aramis all but chokes, gasps and yet demands more. Porthos tugs on his cock, fast, with sticky fingers after a while.

 

“Were you hard back then?”

 

Aramis moans at the question, closes his eyes, struggles to get a good grip on his boyfriend who is rutting against his hip. Porthos is hot but Aramis feels on fire. He hopes Anne can't hear them. Then he hopes that she can and he gasps around what the thought does to him.

 

“Kind of,” he finally manages to say. There's something magical about dancing with Porthos, something awakening primal lust. “But then you abandoned me.”

 

“I'm not abandoning you now. How's that?”

 

He gives Aramis' cock one lengthy stroke, jerks it like he's seen Aramis do it. One thumb brushing the cockhead, playing with it and Aramis is a whimpering mess in his arms. And much more when his boyfriend cups his balls, teases by letting his fingers touch all the sensitive skin above his cock. It's only for a few seconds yet enough for Aramis to keen when Porthos resumes his handjob.

 

“And I came back to you.”

 

“Yes, with Anne.”

 

“And you liked that.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How did you like it?”

 

Aramis shivers, lashes out at Porthos' lips and what he wants to hear.

 

“Tell me what it did to you,” Porthos urges him.

 

“I wanted to...kiss you. I wanted to kiss you all over. I wanted to suck and lick the sweat I could see on your neck. I wanted to suck on your cock because I...when you were next to me, I could feel it and it was...sinful. God, fuck, Porthos.”

 

His boyfriend's cock is so slick against his hip, Porthos' moves sort of erratic. Aramis has to push his hips up to match the other's rhythm.

 

“I couldn't help...,” he continues, “....how you talked in her ear, the way your lips touched it. Fuck. I want to always see you together. I think....she's made to mould into you and it turned me on. I was kinda hard then, too.”

 

These are the same thoughts which run through Porthos' brain. They're taking over, fuelled by Aramis' desire, so similar to his. He buries his head against Aramis' shoulder, wants to bite his lip and ends up biting Aramis instead. It draws no complaint. Aramis urges him on, keeps his boyfriend close with one hand on the nape of his neck.

 

Aramis can't keep still, Porthos' fingers stroking him to an impatient release. The bed creaks a little under their weight, Porthos so hard that it almost hurts. But he won't let his boyfriend go. Aramis is making tiny wonderful noises, swearing exciting ideas and praises. Mouthing them as promises. The Spanish and Aramis' body stilling as he comes send Porthos to his own orgasm. He grunts against tingling skin, can't really stop moving his hips or his hand.

 

Aramis battles for air, finds one sexy mouth to kiss and does so, relishing in the last strokes that Porthos gives him.

 

“Happy birthday to me,” he jokes. Then he licks Porthos' lips and decides that he can't get dirtier than he is. So he snuggles close to his boyfriend while neither of them speak much after that.

 

Porthos can't breathe, his mind is clouded by pleasure, by the exhaustion coming back as suddenly as it had left. He lets Aramis' quiet sighs when he caresses his arm calm him. If he closes his eyes, Porthos sees stars, white spots and Aramis' ravishing face. Along with the fresh memory of Anne pressed more or less against him under the flashing lights. It's not the time to ponder what it did to him, or to Aramis for that matter. It's led them to this blissful alone time and that's enough for now.

 

In the silence, amid the ragged breathing and Aramis humming lazily, they hear cute snoring coming from the living room and they fall asleep giggling.

 

* * *

 

Anne lies still in bed for a long while after having been jotled from sleep. Her head is half hidden under a blanket. There's white light illuminating the appartment, and cold air on the foot peeking out at the edge of the couch. There's a relative silence broken every few seconds by Aramis speaking on the phone. The Spanish feels like home and it could lull her back to her sweet dreams. Except that she is terribly thirsty, even though she's finished the bottle someone had put on the coffee table for her. She needs to pee. She's hungry.

 

The sheets tangle with her legs as she sits up, half of her hair in her face. Long blond locks stuck to her neck. Her left ear hurts because she forgot to take off her earrings and she slept on one of them all night. At least, Anne doesn't think that she has a headache.

 

She pushes her hair back, rubs at her eyes and discovers that Aramis has noticed she's awake. The phone is pressed to his ear, he seems to have stopped walking, frozen in place.

 

“ _Did I wake you up? I'm sorry. It's my mother,”_ he mouths, then pauses. _“....No, not Porthos. Anne is here. She says hello,”_ he adds.

 

Anne has stood up, waving at him, relieved that indeed she doesn't feel sick. Perhaps she overestimated how much she drank. It's a quick trip for her to disappear in the bathroom.

 

“ _....We went out for my birthday. That's all....Yes, very much. We had a great time.....Because we are two very sensitive persons who wouldn't let a friend walk back home in the dead of the night, Mamá.”_

 

His mother sounds satisfied by the explanation and she drops the subject. It's been a long time since they've stopped wondering about the state of their son's relationship with Anne. And Aramis has no intention to explain anything to anyone yet. They've all agreed on that. This is their safe space for the time being.

 

“My mom says hello, too. And that they'll call back as soon as Mati is with them on Wednesday,” Aramis tells Anne as soon as she returns to the living room. His phone call has ended but his phone keeps on buzzing with new messages. He'll look at them later.

 

With a nod, Anne sits back on the couch and all but sinks against him after he's done the same. One arm over her shoulders and a kiss on her forehead. A kiss on his cheek.

 

“Did you sleep well?”

 

“I did. I'm getting used to your couch.”

 

“No headache?”

 

“No headache.”

 

“Lucky you.”

 

“Lightweight.” Anne can't help laughing. She tugs on his hair, frees it from the ponytail and steals the rubber band for herself. Aramis scowls.

 

“Porthos said about the same thing when we woke up.”

 

“Where is he?”

 

She thought maybe he was still asleep, shielded from his boyfriend's conversation. But the door to their bedroom is open and there's clearly no one inside. An unmade bed but that's all.

 

“He's gone out to buy croissants and bread and pastries. It's raining, though, so I don't think he'll be long.”

 

Aramis glances at the clock, then at the window and the drizzle which has turned into a downpour. More than an hour since he woke up and it's still going as strong as it was then.

 

“It's raining?” Anne shrills.

 

Her dry throat turns it into a hoarse sound and she coughs. She doesn't care about this. The blood drains from her face so completely that Aramis is suddenly afraid she is more hungover than she assumed. He doesn't want her to throw up on Porthos' beloved carpet. For all the love he can muster for her, Aramis is afraid it wouldn't be enough to appease his boyfriend.

 

“But it can't rain! We wanted to....”

 

She catches herself before betraying a secret which is likely to never happen anyway. Being outdoors seems out of the question. Aramis cocks his head at the outburst and Anne scrambles to come up with another answer.

 

“Happy birthday, Aramis.”

 

“Thank you!”

 

Anne smoothes a lock of hair, eyeing him, his large smile and delighted crinkles. This is unknown territory. She so hardly wished him in person and now everything has changed. She is a bit clueless about how to greet him, not that she doesn't want to but....So, Aramis takes the decision for her who looks so conflicted about how to proceed next. They've confessed a lot last night but it doesn't mean they have to make drastic changes immediately. No matter how much they want to. Aramis has always said he wanted to take things slow, make sure everybody was comfortable with everyone. It seems like they are but as long as Anne doesn't show that she wants proper kisses without hesitating, he, for one, won't do anything.

 

He leans forward and kisses her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth yet far enough away. This is the kind of love she is comfortable with, especially right after waking up. Affection and friendship and the knowledge that they do know one another inside and out. Aramis smiles a bright smile and his eyes light up with reassurance.

 

“I was making coffee so why don't you go have a shower and hopefully breakfast will be ready by the time you're done.”

 

It's after noon, Anne realizes, finding her phone. She's annoyed their birthday plans seem to have been cancelled but she trusts Porthos to come up with new ideas. Breakfast in the middle of the day sounds like an appealing prospect.

 

Porthos comes back drenched some time later, his goods hidden under the safe protection of his jacket. Damn this spring weather. At least the sight of a merry Aramis skipping to relieve him of bags and to run a hand in his soaked hair is a relief. His eyes sparkle with no sign of tiredness anymore. Their short night was surprisingly refreshing, even though Porthos still feels like he is living outside of reality. He doesn't want the dawn of a new day to shadow how fabulous their evening was. He wants all the days of his life to be the same.

 

“It's hell outside.”

 

He shakes his head, and Aramis pouts, surveying all that his boyfriend bought because he was too lazy to cook. So much sugar that his teeth ache only looking at it all. He rewards Porthos with a long kiss, then steals some bread and twirls to go back to the kitchen.

 

“Yes, Anne mentioned something about it as well. The rain, I mean. She didn't seem pleased either.”

 

“I suppose I can tell you now. We wanted to take you to the zoo like we did last year. And then the castle close-by. That was Anne's suggestion. But now, we're not.”

 

Porthos sounds disappointed because he was looking forward to it. To see the animals, to watch Aramis' enchanted face, how he can turn into such a kid. He is the one soothing the frown on Porthos' forehead, one finger tracing all the wrinkles until they vanish and he can give his boyfriend a thank you kiss. It's the thought that counts.

 

“Besides, it only means that now, we are trapped in here with Anne. I could think of worse ways to spend the day. We'll find plenty to do.”

 

“And I bought you a cake.”

 

“I love you so very much.”

 

With his large grin, his devilish but charming eyes and his wandering hands, he pushes Porthos lightly so he sits on a chair, bags on the table and lap taken over by Aramis.

 

“I had very good dreams, thanks to you,” Aramis whispers, his words loaded with everything they did before falling asleep. “I'll tell you all about them when we're truly alone.”

 

“Don't you want to tell me now?”

 

Porthos would like that. As much as his hand on Aramis' ass suggests it. Only track pants between their skin and it's like Aramis can feel the heat on his bare flesh. He snuggles closer.

 

“I'm dying to. To tell you, and to give you a demonstration. I don't want to shock Anne, though.”

 

There's no mistaking the note of disappointment in his voice. Annoyance, too, perhaps? They're quite at ease talking about it all and she does want it. She wants kisses since it's what put them in this situation in the first place. She hasn't acted on it yet, out of hesitation or shyness, they don't know. She also wants more than kissing. Her blushing aside, Porthos is pretty sure she thinks of it a lot. He can't blame her. They've been starting to think about it, too. Their nightly adventure in bed happened for a reason.

 

All in due time. It's true that walking on them in an intimate position would send the wrong message and wouldn't help anything. They'd never do that to her. It's a good thing they can somewhat refrain fom pouncing on one another every five minutes. There's the promise that they will do such a thing later tonight and Porthos believes he can contain himself till then.

 

“I don't want to shock her either. We'll be perfect hosts while she's with us.”

 

“When aren't we?”

 

Porthos laughs, Aramis nuzzling his neck, rubbing his nose to his cheek, smelling the fresh scent from outside. The wind, the cold, the rain, intertwined with Porthos'.

 

Silent padding on the floor comes to disturb their happy bubble. He won't relinquish his hold on Porthos for Anne. She likes their display of affection, soon she'll be part of it, more than she is already. Soon, she won't mind anything anymore. Aramis is positive of it.

 

“Aramis? I think we have a problem. Oh! Porthos! You're here!”

 

Anne blushes when she realizes that Porthos is back home. Her face turns a deep crimson shade and she clutches the towel wrapped around her naked body. Two hands aren't enough to make sure she won't embarrass herself even more.

 

Porthos' eyes widen, they zero in on her and he is literally unable to look away. Decency demands that he does but he cannot. Aramis ends up almost on the floor until he finds his balance and sees what the problem is. Anne doesn't know what to do with herself. She feels so exposed, water dripping from her hair and it's as if the towel is transparent. Porthos cannot stop staring.

 

“I'm sorry,” she starts. “I....we....”

 

If he's staring, it must be because he likes what he is seeing. She is certainly not the first woman he has seen in this position. Anne is confident walking like this with Aramis around because she is used to him, but Porthos is quite different. She is growing used to him and yet this is rather embarassing so early in their relationship. But after all, Anne is quite sure that they are in one, even if it hasn't been said out loud. So she shouldn't be so nervous. She likes him, too. She'd stare in the roles were reversed.

 

Besides, Aramis is staring as well, gaping. She gives a pretty sight, except for the part where it makes her uncomfortable to be scrutinized like that. He snaps back to his senses before Porthos does. He's seen Anne in a towel chasing a toddling Mati and slipping on the tiles, the towel puddling at her feet. He's seen her in swimming suits, he's seen her naked.

 

“Did you forget your clothes? That's exactly what happened to me the very first time I met Porthos.”

 

He shoves his boyfriend's shoulder but it takes a stronger nudge for Porthos to break the spell. He's mesmerized by her flushed face, the wet hair clinging to her skin. So white that it shines in contrast with the black towel.

 

“Yes! Yes, that's what happened. At Athos'. If we're making it a tradition, I'm not complaining.”

 

Aramis snorts, and Anne does chuckle, shifting on her feet.

 

“Sorry, Anne,” Porthos goes on. “I didn't mean to stare. You took me by surprise.”

 

“You took _us_ by surprise. But you're pretty and I'll take it as a birthday gift even if it wasn't intentional. Or was it?”

 

The joke and the cheeky grin settle her heart. They're two men interested in her. For her feelings as well as for everything else. They've given her the okay to go forward as much as she wanted with them. Her appearing in a towel wasn't planned but their responses are genuine, caring and attentive. She belongs and she's safe. Even naked in a towel.

 

“It most certainly wasn't,” Anne says. “One day it might, but not today.”

 

Aramis' nails dig in Porthos' shoulder who winces at the sharp pain. The bold statement was unexpected. Porthos chokes on his coffee, spits some of it on his sweatshirt. Anne's heart speeds up again. So fast that she fears it'll make the towel fly off of her. And then where would they be? She's been daring enough in the past minutes and that's certainly enough for today.

 

“I seem to have overlooked the minor issue of my clothes,” she explains, her voice steady. Porthos is still trying to breathe correctly, Aramis patting his back.

 

“Don't you have your dress?”

 

“It smells like beer and I'd rather not eat with it on.”

 

“We'll put it in the wash,” Porthos offers, his eyes watering. Anne looks at him as if he's offered to sacrifice her son to the gods.

 

“It doesn't go in the wash! It's dry-cleaning only.”

 

“Anne is very particular about her clothes. And her jewelry. Do you still keep everything in these little boxes according to shapes and colors?”

 

Anne has gained back her assurance to fire a dark glance at Aramis. This isn't helping. She's still standing there in a towel.

 

“I've a feeling if I wear this all day, one of you will lose it. Or the both of you.”

 

She pulls on her towel, careful to never let go. Porthos is amazed by how brave she is this morning. But again, Anne is one of the bravest persons he's ever met. Saying these things while looking at them in the eye. A good night sleep hasn't dampened her resolve to take matters further. He's not complaining. It boosts his own confidence, too.

 

“You can fish in my tee-shirts,” Aramis decides. Simple words which make Anne forget her predicament. It's one of her favourite things in the world. “And there are gym shorts which will be too big for you but we can tie them tighter. Come on.”

 

Anne hurries after him, deciding that it's not worth it to ask if one of them could go and retrieve clothes for her at her appartment like she had planned. First because the rain looks on the verge of turning into a storm, the wind lashing at the windows. And also because now that she thinks about it, she'd be mortified to have Aramis or Porthos rummage in her closet. The idea would have likely been vetoed anyway. They are far better off huddling in the kitchen once she's finally decent.

 

Her new clothes seem to have been made for giants and she's going barefoot. Aramis' flip-flops are so much bigger than her feet that she would have tripped every other step. Porthos likes the messy bun and the complete lack of make-up. Bare skin and bare soul. There's no trace of her previous embarassment and he's come down from his shock.

 

Anne feels more at home here than at her own place. It's warm. It's never silent whenever she is around. The men's banter over a breakfast fit for kings is familiar. A busy Aramis buzzing in the room, dropping kisses to Porthos' forehead as often as he can. Always touching his boyfriend otherwise. Gravitating toward the sunny smiles and the raucous laughter. Serving food like a perfect host, refilling Anne's cup of tea without being asked to.

 

Her chair is nested between theirs and it makes her feel secure. Along with the kind words throughout the meal, the lingering looks. Porthos must glance at her more than he actually eats. Even if he also does that a lot. Gulfing down more food than she is capable of in spite of her hunger. It's a remarkable thing to witness.

 

On the other hand, Aramis is used to is and only squeezes her hand in compassion when she comments on it. He is a bit jealous of his boyfriend's metabolism. He doesn't let go of Anne's hand afterwards. A sideway glance and a small smile tell him that it's fine. Her fingers cling to his.

 

They part only because they couldn't possibly eat more and they'd fall asleep again if they stayed idle any longer. Aramis doesn't even object to his cake being eaten later. As long as he can blow off candles. It means that Anne will have to stay a few more hours. Not that she has any intention of leaving. This is the kind of quiet Sunday afternoon she barely ever has.

 

Porthos' knee rubs against her foot when they sit around the coffee table to play a boardgame which was otherwise collecting dust. The pressure is so light on her skin and yet so present that it overtakes her. It makes her heart swell, to see him frown in frustration, clueless about the questions he has to answer, joking about calling a friend and then leaning toward her. She is definitely talented and who could resist the wonderful eyes charming her for the correct answer? He's close, staying closer after she's refused him, much to Aramis' delight.

 

Her heart breathes out, relaxed, burying her awkwardness under layers of familiar domesticity. There's no need to talk feelings anymore. They're better off having a great time as more than friends, comfortable in who and what they are. Anne looks at Aramis arguing about a question then beaming as he is proved correct. He reclines on his elbows and winks at Porthos. This is what she has always wanted. Now she wants to be around all the days of her life. Here or somewhere else, but with _them_. They're showing her how effortless it is to be with someone, to be a part of their couple, of their relationship.

 

Easy in spite of their fights: over the unmade bed or whose turn it is to water the plant and no, are you insane, we're not opening the window to take advantage of the rain for that. I do care about the planet, but also about the floor, Porthos had argued, oblivious to Aramis' sly smirk and his shoulders shaking with laughter.

 

He isn't doing so anymore in their game. Porthos only has one point so he is no threat but Anne has just scored another one and she is so close to winning. That won't do.

 

“You knew this question!” Aramis pouts.

 

“It's the point of the game.”

 

“But it was exactly what you studied. That's not fair.”

 

“You had a question about your beloved author, too. It's not my fault you failed it. Hand over the dice.”

 

“It was a tricky one!” Aramis replies, doing no such thing. Porthos finds his outraged face adorable. He'd kiss it if Aramis wasn't on the other side of table. Staying close to Anne is good for now. “And I've a headache.”

 

“Awww, poor baby. Perhaps you should take a nap and leave your cake to us. Dice.”

 

“Don't call me that!” Aramis whines. “And don't you dare touch that cake without me.”

 

He points a terrifying finger at the both of them, Porthos raising his hands in defense. Aramis is so cute when he thinks he is menacing that his boyfriend feels obligated to stand up and kiss him this time. Aramis' hand grabs a handful of his clothes, keeps him close, Porthos half lying on the table, a greedy tongue in his mouth.

 

Against all odds, it's Anne who appears out of breath when they're done.

 

“Are you trying to mess with my brains?”

 

“Why?” Aramis asks, smirking, licking his lips. “Is it working?”

 

“A little,” she has to confess.

 

“Excellent!”

 

And he leans to kiss her cheek, his lips wet from Porthos' already. Porthos tousles his hair and sits back down with a chuckle. Anne looks flustered yet it's gone when she answers her next question correctly. Aramis seems defeated.

 

“Damn it. You know all the questions already.”

 

“Now, that would be impossible, _duckie_.”

 

Porthos spits his drink all over the table, chokes on what he was trying to swallow. Aramis' absolutely horrified and gaping face is a blur in his smoky vision. Porthos isn't quite sure he's understood what she said right, but the way Aramis reacts hints that he did. The whine that follows is so high and so powerful that it does sound like a baby.

 

“Anne!”

 

“I'm sorry! It came out of nowhere!” She's dropped her card, busy trying to soak the juice so it doesn't ruin the board. It did come from the depths of their past, out of the blue, triggered by facile exchanges she hasn't had with Aramis in years. Maybe not since the last time she indeed called him that, before he moved to another country and they lost this part of their life.

 

“What did you call him?” Porthos' words burn a little.

 

“It's nothing,” Aramis replies for her. “It's a stupid nickname from when we were younger.”

 

“Not stupid.”

 

“It is! You promised you wouldn't use it anymore.”

 

To retaliate and stop his boyfriend from looking at him with amusement, Aramis punches her shoulder. Harder than he expected or she didn't have a good balance, because she stumbles on the carpet with a cute gasp and Porthos has to help her back up. Anne massages her shoulder, appreciates the hand that stays on her back and how it also rubs there. She curves against it, won't allow Porthos to withdraw.

 

“I'm sorry, Aramis. It....I feel at home with you here. Like I haven't been in so long. You also can't stop whining when we play and that's something else I've missed. I feel good here,” she repeats, eyeing them both. “I guess that....I had forgotten about this, really, but I guess it's so perfect being with you here again that it came back.”

 

Porthos is close to her, even if Aramis is still studying the outstretched hand with caution. In the end, he has to grab it. He's annoyed but her reason wins him over. It's all he's been wanting for them. Now, if she could not have revealed ridiculous nicknames it would have indeed been perfect but nothing can truly be.

 

“I actually gave her that nickname when she was pregnant because that's how she walked.”

 

“It wasn't nice at all.” On this, Porthos supposes that he has to agree. “But then he was recovering from his injury so it worked for him, too,” Anne finishes the explanation.

 

Porthos snorts and accepts the hand Aramis wants him to hold. They're extraordinary in all that they are sharing. For a split second, and not for the first time, he wonders why it never worked between the two of them before. They're a match but then again, he is positive Aramis is one for him, too. If it had happened to anybody else, Porthos wouldn't believe this craziness. It's happening to him, though. His emotions are a mess, pointing in two different directions yet in the same one at the same time. He's going with the flow. They're not sinking their ship.

 

“We promised never to use it again. We were so fed up with it in the end.”

 

“Then I won't, 'mis. It's your thing anyway.”

 

Porthos lets go of Anne to come between the two of them and hug Aramis fiercely. If all the pouting was a ploy to have him do exactly this, it worked. Aramis' hands are firm on his back, keeping him close, almost making Porthos stumble on top of him.

 

“I suppose you can get a hug as well,” Aramis mumbles, wriggling to make some room for Anne. He certainly doesn't dream the hot breath in his neck and the lips pressing there, repeating her apologies. Not that he needs them. She was embarassed in her towel before and she got over it. He'll do likewise. He only wants to be Porthos' cupcake for the time being. He'll never admit to anybody how much he adores the pet name. Especially coming from the strong and powerful figure which hides the fluffiest teddy bear Aramis has ever been lucky enough to live with.

 

“I'm in the mood for my cake now.”

 

“All right, 'mis.”

 

The kiss Porthos brushes to his temple is as meaningful as Anne's and Aramis is left to ponder how mushy they both manage to make him after he's just been abashed. Best afternoon ever. Thank God for the apocalyptic weather.

 

“You do know he's doing this so we won't finish the game, right?” Porthos asks when they're in the kitchen, Aramis out of earshot.

 

“Of course he is. He thinks he's clever but not enough for us.” She is putting the candles on the gorgeous cake, arranging them prettily.

 

“He's cute when he doesn't behave like an adult.”

 

Porthos has gathered forks and plates and waits for her, lean fingers and clothes so big he wonders how far underneath them her body is.

 

“He is,” Anne concurs.

 

Aramis brings light to her life with his antics. How serious he can be one moment when it's needed and how goofy he can turn the next when they can relax and let his laughter prompt theirs. She's missed living with Aramis so much. Porthos is lucky to have him around all the time.

 

“You're cute, too, you know.” Porthos fiddles with the cutlery and the napkins. These words have been trapped in his guts for too long. Hearing them out in the open, letting them carry his obvious feelings to her, it's alleviating. More so when Anne tips her head to hide a pleased smile.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“It's okay if I tell you this, isn't it?”

 

“It is. I think I need it.”

 

Porthos hardly needs more prompting to be confident again. He smiles back at her, all the while willing his heart to take a break and let him push his boundaries. Out of his comfort zone.

 

“Well, then. You're very, very cute, especially when you do that.” Anne has dipped her head, trying to avoid the onslaught of compliments bound to follow. “You're also cute when you stand up to Aramis, when you fought over that last pastry. You're cute when you stay quiet and you just listen. When you're with us and you don't mind us taking you hostage for the day.”

 

“I'm definitely not complaining about that. There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

 

She's beautiful with her shining eyes and smile. Her toes wiggling on the tiles and her hands fumbling with the cake box. She's staring at him, this friend she has grown close. To such levels she thought would be forbidden. Porthos is big and he could be frightening but Anne doesn't see any of this. Certainly not right now. She sees softness and love, the vulnerable side of Aramis' boyfriend she saw for the first time when he was struggling with his biological father. She would never have been attracted to someone who had his job and his build if it had been all there was to him. Not her type. It's all these exceptional qualities which lie beneath the surface which drew her to him.

 

It's like trying to avoid a force of nature: impossible.

 

“You're very handsome yourself,” Anne manages to say. Porthos is more than cute so the adjective wouldn't do him justice.

 

“And now I know you do mean it because I'm wearing these super old clothes,” he jokes, her compliment simple yet sounding like his proudest achievement. Anne shakes her head.

 

“Clothes don't matter. I like...”

 

“I'm hungry!” Aramis shouts, cutting them off. Anne shakes her head again, replaces the unsaid words by a quick kiss to Porthos' cheek. She likes that, too. Physical touches. It's been too long since she had any coming from people who weren't family or mere friends.

 

“Here's some ice cream, too, 'mis,” Porthos announces, setting everything on the now tidy coffee table.

 

The game has been neatly put away. Aramis looks excited as Anne lights the few candles and Porthos scoops ice cream in bowls. Aramis licks his lips and his boyfriend locks eyes on them for a second.

 

Aramis' wish is so obvious that he doesn't bother closing his eyes to make it. Anne telling him that she has a present for him but that he'll have to wait for it since it's at her place doesn't pain him. She's here with him. She's always hugged him like that, thin arms around his waist, face against his chest but he cannot help thinking that she's squeezing tighter, that it lasts longer.

 

The complete opposite of Porthos' rapid kiss. More like a peck. But Aramis gets to snuggle under his arm after they're all sitting on the floor, their backs to the couch, watching the movie that Aramis has picked. It's cozy against Porthos's side, Aramis' legs drawn to his chest, his boyfriend's hand gliding on the bare skin of his arm. Once in a while, if Aramis shifts, Porthos has to blow on his hair to get it out of his face. They're silent, eyes riveted to the screen.

 

Anne is sitting on Porthos' other side. She's been busy with her unfinished slice of cake for the beginning of the movie. The plate and the fork are a hindrance she discards far from her. Her legs are outstretched, she's trying to concentrate on the plot like the men are but their proximity and their easiness make it complicated. They're so perfect, so in love whenever she glances at them. Natural. She'd kill for half of this deep sensation.

 

Porthos' hand is lying flat on his bent leg, he smoothes it every few minutes, trying to get rid of the sweaty feeling in his fingers. Anne is a bit restless for no reason known to him so it's unnerving. Then it's not anymore because she's put her hand on his, staying very still, waiting for a reaction.

 

Fingers thread, hold her tight. Porthos' thumb rubs back and forth on her silky skin and this also, feels natural and Anne relaxes. She can do this. She can do it the right way.

 

Aramis presses a kiss to Porthos' clothed shoulder once he's noticed what they're doing. Anne looks beyond happy just like this and he doesn't know for which one of them he is more pleased. They're both growing fond of each other. Little touches, little steps, more and more confidence and coming from them, it's spectacular. Anne was so afraid she'd ruin their couple. Porthos was so afraid to admit anything which could hurt his boyfriend.

 

Aramis doesn't feel hurt at all. It's quite the contrary. How lucky he is. He wants some loving, too.

 

“Porthos?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

His lips close on Aramis' the moment he turns his head. His mouth opens by reflex, his hand coming to cradle Aramis closer. His fingers burrow in the curly hair, eliciting a low moan. Aramis could kiss Porthos forever, tasting raspberry and lemon and chocolate. He licks his lips, gives Porthos short kisses, breathing in and out quietly, lost in his boyfriend's dark eyes. Porthos' forehead rests against his. He's still holding Anne's hand, maybe more strongly than he was before.

 

She cannot look away. She's always been transfixed by their kissing. By this simple display of love. It makes her stomach jump and twirl. It warms her from the inside out and it fills her mind with peace and hope. It's too beautiful for words. Seeing these two so in love. She's never had this reaction for anybody else.

 

Adverting her eyes is out of the question after Aramis mumbles an _I love you_ and they settle back to watch the screen. He looks blissful, incredibly serene against Porthos. Their fingers are hot and his thumb resumes rubbing her skin and it sends little spark everywhere in her body. More than it did before the men kissed.

 

Anne cannot resist the attraction.

 

Shutting her brain down, gathering all her courage, she hoists herself up against the couch and taps on Porthos' shoulder to get his attention. Her face is so close when he does so that he's taken aback a little. He draws back, searches her eyes for any clue but she's still clinging to his sweatshirt, playing with it, gazing from his startled eyes to his mouth. He may be surprised, there's the hint that he was waiting for precisely this.

 

Anne didn't remembr his lips like this. She didn't remember much from her failed attempt in his office. They're warm, so incredibly hot, soft and lush. First pressing gently then harder when there's no hesitation on either side. If anything, Anne is crowding closer, eyes closed and unable to feel anything that isn't Porthos. He's everywhere at once, strong and loving, one hand now cupping the nape of her neck. Rugged fingers on her skin, holding her there and he shifts, turns around to face her. She's so fabulous, sighing into the kiss, shivering at the open mouth offered to her.

 

Porthos is gazing right at her once she does open her eyes, two fingers brushing her cheeks graciously, the sides of her face. Reassuring and intimate. Anne feels on fire and that's a kiss which is everything but simple. It encompasses so much that she would lose her train of thought if it wasn't what was already happening to her.

 

Porthos' lips close on hers again, inviting and so comfortable. They mould hers perfectly, as if it was meant to be. This is pure pleasure.

 

Her scent crawls under Porthos' skin, all of his senses have skyrocketed. She's smooth, she's addictive. How she grazes her neck, his hair. How she looks at him with trust. One of her hands settles on his chest, confident and daring, a help to push herself closer to him. Her lips are tasty and pretty and Porthos very nearly jumps from the floor at her timid tongue licking his teeth. Testing.

 

He was waiting for it, for the first move coming from her in every sense of the term. Now that she's made it, he can curl his tongue around hers, swallowing gasps as he licks in her mouth. Anne lets him do it, too far gone to realize that she needs air.

 

It ends messily but as far as first kisses go, Porthos can't complain. Her lips are shiny, so are her disbelieving eyes. Porthos gives her a peck, wills his lungs to come back under control and his body to stop shaking. He can barely breathe. Aramis' cold hand on his neck seems like an electroshock. He cannot look at his boyfriend right now, it would break the magic, but he knows with this gesture that Aramis is fine with what just happened. That this time around, they didn't betray him.

 

“Now, that's a proper kiss,” Porthos rasps, a thumb gliding on Anne's cheek. She nods timidly, leans against the touch.

 

This is the best spot on Earth and it seems that she's experiencing the most perfect dose of ecstasy. It'll take long minutes before she realizes what they've done. There's nothing but calm around her, her body shivering a bit.

 

“Your nose.”

 

“What?”

 

“I like your nose. That's what I wanted to say earlier.”

 

Porthos laughs when he remembers their unfinished conversation. Then he kisses her again, because now he can and he can't quite believe it. And it's perfect and not scary anymore and yes, he's been wanting this so much that he can't think anymore. Anne actually whimpers in the kiss. One more thing to add to the pile of her cuteness.

 

She sinks under his open arm because she couldn't possibly take more. This is fantastic, better than what she imagined. Her fantasies didn't hold a candle to the reality of being swept in Porthos' kisses. She's fairly sure even Aramis can hear her heart drum in her chest. He's smiling kindly when Anne remembers to check on him. Porthos is _his_ boyfriend. He may soon become more to her, given what they just did, but for the time being, he is Aramis', despite how often they've stressed it was okay if she wanted to be more affectionate with either of them.

 

Aramis watches her with spectacularly understanding eyes so she can enjoy the comfort of Porthos' cuddles without any guilt.

 

Porthos kisses Aramis' cheek, still shaking as he does so. Nothing breaks the quiet except for the movie and it makes it all appear so natural, so meant to be, that there really is nothing to discuss.

 

Aramis plays with Anne's hair, his arm across Porthos' shoulder, and fingers buried in the blond locks. He's no idea what the plot is anymore.

 


	8. The Lasagna

There's a small square in front of Anne's museum. Nestled between the old building and the university. Surrounded by ancient streets, cobblestones and almost no car. When it's sunny, you can forget the busy city around it. There's the medieval herb and vegetable patch the museum keeps for schools, the one Anne is glad she isn't in charge of. There are trees blooming, even a small fountain and benches. And today, Aramis.

 

So engrossed that he is in the book he's holding with both hands, he hasn't noticed he's being watched. With his legs outstretched and his sunglasses on, he's the only thing that Anne could see the second she stepped out of the museum courtyard and into the street. Not that her day was boring or stressful but knowing that someone was waiting for her, that they had plans for the evening, it's made her so impatient.

 

Aramis raises suspicious eyes at the shadow blocking his beloved sunshine, only to beam at her, his book forgotten. They've said good bye three days before but he's been missing her a lot already. More than what he is used to. Their weekend was so spectacular that they wished it never ended. He's more excited to know she is accompanying him to the gym than he is to actually go fencing.

 

Anne is a picture of happiness, teasing about the glasses he's using whereas it was still raining the previous day. She has to dodge puddles while they walk. She's holding his hand, the most natural thing in the world, holding on to the reality of how comfortable they can be together. She's laughing at Aramis' rant about what pathetic lunch they served where he works. She smiles at the cheeky grins and the pleased eyes and the lips on her cheek and there's no need to try to go further. Anne is at ease with this relationship with Aramis for the time being. He seems to be as well.

 

As long as she enjoys it to its fullest.

 

“So....,” she eventually starts when they are sitting in another park, on another bench, with their coffee. “....is that us not dating?”

 

A smile tugs at her lips, there's delight in her voice, almost as if it's a joke and she's disbelieving a little. It's too good to be true. But she's loving every second of their thrilling ever-growing relationship. Aramis kisses her cheek again, now with caramel drizzle sticking to his mouth. To her face.

 

“Oh, I'd say we are definitely dating.”

 

It had to be the sweetest drink on the menu and it goes straight to his head. But it's worth it to see the splendid smile spreading on Anne's lips. She's beautiful without trying to, make-up almost still on point, hair somewhat still holding up. Blowing on her drink, whipped cream on the corner of her mouth that she collects with the pad of a finger so she can eat it, licking it and closing her eyes. And then giggling. It's like she's so young, so carefree and safe and Aramis loves it.

 

As much as he likes how her eyes sparkle at his admission. She's right. They're almost different people than they were before Mati was born. They've matured and if all that they went through couldn't drive them apart, it had to draw them closer. Something that Aramis is yearning for. Dating Anne will be fun. The way she plays with her necklace while she listens to what he thinks of his current reading.

 

That's a part of their old life they are getting back at the same time as they are improving it. Anne could bask in the perfection that it is. It makes her Wednesday less dull than usual.

 

It's even better improved by the phonecall Aramis receives. The I.D. on the screen illuminates his face and he puts the phone on speaker at once.

 

“ _Hello?”_

 

“ _Pap_ _á_ _? It's me!”_ It's a shrill, which is what they need to hear anything amid the bustling park.

 

“ _Mati? Are you with grandma and grandpa, buddy?”_

 

“ _And the dogs!”_

 

“ _Of course. How's it going?”_

 

“ _Grandma made crêpes!”_

 

So it must be going rather well. There's barking in the background, his mother shushing the pets, clattering and fumbling. Aramis thinks he hears her say hello but Mati has so much to say that he cannot reply.

 

“ _It sounds like you're having a ton of fun already.”_

 

“ _Yes!”_

 

“ _Listen, champion. There's someone here with me who wants to say hello.”_

 

“ _Good afternoon, sweetheart,”_ Anne chimes in, having patiently waited for her turn until then.

 

“ _Mamá!”_

 

There's more clattering and banging and Mati's voice grows louder because _this_ is a surprise. This time, Aramis definitely hears his mother telling the child to sit back down and swallow. Or else he'll choke. Anne fills the sudden unexpected silence by trying not to look too worried. He'll always be her baby. The hand cupping her neck is welcome. The soothing fingers and Aramis huddling closer on the bench.

 

“ _Did you have a nice trip?”_ she asks after Aramis' mother has congratulated the boy on chewing it all.

 

“ _Yes! I have new toys!”_

 

“Of course he has. Will he even be able to bring them all on the plane?”

 

Aramis laughs out loud at her mumbling.

 

“ _And tomorrow, we're going to the beach!”_

 

“ _Are you now? That's amazing!”_

 

“ _But I can't swim, grandpa said.”_

 

They can't mistake the pout on the other end of the line.

 

“ _I'm sure it's too cold for swimming, buddy. But you'll build sandcastles and you'll play fetch with the dogs, won't you?”_

 

“ _Yes! Papá, can I say hi to Porfos, too?”_

 

“ _Oh, Mati, sweetie. I'm sorry.”_ Aramis hates to disappoint. Yet he's thankful that for Mati, since his mother is with him, so should his boyfriend. He's thankful the boy always imagines the three of them together. _“Porthos isn't with us right now.”_

 

“ _Why?”_

 

“ _He's at work. Mamá is coming to watch me fence, that's all.”_

 

“ _I want to come, too!”_

 

“ _Another time when you'll be back, okay? You can come as often as you want.”_

 

“ _And have your sword?”_

 

Anne beats him to an answer.

 

“ _Not until you've learned to handle one your size correctly.”_

 

“ _But, Mamá! I want to!”_

 

“ _Why are you complaining, sweetheart? You're spending a remarkable time with your grandparents. And the dogs,”_ Anne adds. God bless him and his enthusiasm. She misses her son terribly, in spite of how fantastic his absence has been and how it's allowed her to grow close to Porthos and Aramis. 

 

“ _And if you hand the phone to grandma for a minute, I can give her Porthos' number and you'll call and say hi. He'll be over the moon if you do so.”_

 

This mildly satisfies the boy and his grandmother is laughing while she's on the line, describing his antics. How precious Mati is and how grateful they are to be able to spend some time with him. The child doesn't even care if none of his parents are with him.

 

“He's amazing,” Anne mentions after they've hung up. Aramis is finishing her drink, wiping his beard with the back of his hand. So handsome and not a care in the world now. Reassured. She's seeing him with fresh eyes and she rather enjoys the new perspective. “And I'm not saying this because he's our son. But how he remembered to ask for Porthos. He's so young.”

 

“He is truly amazing.” He's saying this because he's their son. He's the best.

 

“It's as if he really doesn't make any difference between us anymore.”

 

“Oh, believe me, he does. He always goes to Porthos first if he wants to request something I'm likely to say he can't do. He still hasn't understood that Porthos isn't as easily won over these days as he used to be.”

 

Anne chuckles, feels her spirits lifted while Aramis actually pulls her to her feet so they can get moving. Apart from her son thinking he might charm his stepfather more than his parents, she couldn't have hoped for a better addition to her family. Her heart does little stutters whenever her mind drifts to Porthos, to their wonderful date and the afternoon spent at the men's place. It's as if her lips tingle with the aftermath of his kisses, even long after they've stopped. 

 

The mere fact that Aramis considers it normal, that he deems there's no need to discuss it further makes her giddy.  _They_ are wonderful. In their acceptance, their generosity and their love. A year ago, neither Aramis nor Porthos would have said they wanted to share their affection with anyone. It was theirs, hard won and to be cherished without intruders. Only someone as fantastic, pure and admirable as Anne could have cracked their determination and make them change their mind. For the best. 

 

Aramis feels absolutely no pain to have been around when they kissed. It's meant to be and it was quite a sight. He's been wondering if that's how Anne feels whenever she catches him kissing Porthos. Calm and bliss washing over him. The hint of heat which would have grown stronger if they hadn't stopped because Porthos' lips are hypnotizing even when they aren't pressed to Aramis'. Besides, they drew back so content, Porthos and Anne. Sheer delight and ease that truly, Aramis could find nothing to complain about.

 

It's perhaps better to have accepted Anne inside their life. Now, Porthos doesn't feel obligated to come with him to fencing practice. Not that he hates it, but Anne certainly enjoys it more than he ever will. More people sharing Aramis' life so that everyone can fit better. And dinner will likely be ready by the time they leave the gym and come back home.

 

Aramis is a bit on edge the entire time he's at the gym, very careful in his moves, determined not to hurt his ankle like he did the last time he practised with d'Artagnan. His friend is patient if not teasing, and Anne is the best audience and support, until Constance joins her, talking wedding, diverting her attention a bit, commenting on how great her fiancé is. Anne finds Aramis to be a smooth and incredible fencer, perhaps the best she's ever known, in spite of the slow movements and all the breaks he demands. There's more talking and stretching than actual fighting unfolding in front of the women.

 

It doesn't matter. Constance is great company, joking, showing Anne pictures of her nearly finished wedding dress that Aramis will whine about after he's showered and changed. No pain in his foot whatsoever. It's been more than four months since he hurt it. Almost five. It's about time he could resume normal activities without the silent pain looming above his head.

 

“Anne will tell me all about your dress anyway,” he decides, disappointed yet again that he can't take a peek at it. Constance rolls her eyes.

 

“Jesus, Aramis. I've never seen anyone pester me so much about it. Even d'Art has let it go.”

 

“I have. Because I know what's good for me.”

 

d'Artagnan dodges the swatting hand and the glaring eyes to drap one arm around her waist and kiss her cheek and then her mouth when she stops refusing him.

 

“Besides, I won't tell you anything,” Anne promises.

 

“But I love weddings!”

 

“They get one yourself,” Constance fires back.

 

“We're not. We're getting a civil partnership. Porthos and I,” Aramis adds, thinking that he might need to specify this. The air is forced from his lungs under the strength of Constance's hug. Anne has safely taken a step back to avoid being stampeded. 

 

“That's terrific news, Aramis!”

 

He can't help grinning, barely swaying from the large tap on the back d'Artagnan gives him before he's allowed to give his friend another congratulation hug. Aramis will never tire of announcing the news, just like it's thrilling to know that someday he'll be able to truly acknowledge the room they've made for Anne in their lives. This, he is a bit apprehensive about nonetheless but he won't let it bother him for the time being. They'll make it all work.

 

“You should have brought him along, too! To celebrate!” Constance exclaims.

 

“He's at home. Cooking us dinner.”

 

“Oh. So you've lost your son for a week and you're replacing him with Anne, uh?”

 

With her fists on her hips, a smirk on her face, Constance watches Aramis's face glow under the damp curls. He glances briefly at Anne before answering.

 

“Precisely.”

 

He spent close to three days without seeing her. After the intensity of their exchanges, it felt like an abomination. Now that they can, Aramis would love to always have Anne around, be it while the boy is absent or when he is in Paris. They make it work beautifully, the four of them.

 

“And I'm not complaining,” Anne says. “He bought me coffee and I'm invited for a meal for which I have nothing to cook.”

 

“Someone could learn from all of this.”

 

Constance narrows her eyes, d'Artagnan squirming at the finger poking him in the ribs. Follows an outrage reply that d'Artagnan is the most charming boyfriend and that he does cook. Not often and when he does the kitchen requires a thorough clean-up, but it's the thought that counts. And then he declares that he'll cook tonight, completely out of the blue, to please her, to earn more kisses. Constance pinches his cheek in the most adorable way. While she says good bye, she whispers hastily to Anne that she hopes he'll clean his mess as well, a note of amusement in her voice.

 

Aramis grabs her hand the second they are outside and their friends can't start questioning the gesture. This might be the trickiest part of their new arrangement. For someone who loves to touch and to show his feelins to refrain from doing so while it isn't all official. Shielded in their cozy weekend, it was not a problem. Now, though, Aramis was itching to touch Anne in any way he could when they were talking with the others. He'll have to make do with their moments in the anonymity of the big city.

 

Sometime while he was in the locker room, Anne has let her hair down, a cascade of freshly washed silky curls that Aramis breathes in in the subway.

 

It's rush hour and somehow, she ends up flushed against him, one safe arm on her waist so she doesn't stumble at every stop. Her fist clutching Aramis' jacket, the only safe anchor she could find. Along with the comforting rhythm of his heart under her cheek cushioned on his chest. Loud and steady in her ear in spite of the racket of the old metallic subway, and the dozens of people eager to get home. Aramis' fingers are splayed on her back, so strong. The opposite of the tender lips kissing her forehead after she's yelped in surprise at someone stepping on her foot. Anne doesn't see the following glare that Aramis bestows upon this unthoughtful person. The gentleness of his lips which linger on her soft face afterward are enough.

 

They're talking about dinner, about whether Porthos will have bought dessert or they should. There is nothing left of the birthday cake. About whether it's really reasonable to eat so much sweet food. Her coffee was anything but and her stomach is still full. Aramis bows down to her superior and wiser thinking. She tries to trickle him at the joke. His laughter is so genuine, a brilliant tune in an otherwise insipid part of their daily subway journey. Aramis' eyes crinkle around his smile. There's so much beauty from being that close to it that Aramis' subsequent sigh brushes her face and the eyes she can't tear away from him.

 

She's always loved and appreciated Aramis' honest display of emotions. How eager he is to enjoy himself, to have fun. But now he's doing it with her as well, sometimes only with her like these few minutes and it's all the proof she needs that they will never mess up dating this time around. How could they? They're truly a match. Through friendship and through more. Trust and ease and Anne has to take a gamble, standing on her tip-toes in high heels to kiss his cheek.

 

For the short respite during which the subway has stopped at a random station, Aramis lets one finger trace the side of her face, a warm fingertip on warming skin. Then it puts a stray blond curl behind her ear. He's still touching her hair after they start moving again. It's a soothing caress and Anne sinks more against him. Despite their surroundings, she relaxes because Aramis is real and he's with her and he loves her.

 

These are the tiny moments he'll cherish whenever he's able, along with the sunny smile they are greeted by when they finally make it home. It smells wonderfully good, a sure evidence that Aramis is correct, that Porthos is a great cook, no matter all the teasing he puts him through. Porthos loves it, though. Loves to pretend to be offended for Aramis to offer apologies in whatever way is deemed most appropriate. Through kisses and groping usually.

 

Porthos welcomes a skipping Aramis in his open arms. There's tomato sauce on his cheek, right under his left eye that his boyfriend licks before indulging in a long, deep hello kiss. Aramis feels a bit drained after practice nonetheless but Porthos is a safe haven. He buries himself in his arms, basks in the cocoon of fluff offered to him. Big arms hugging him to pieces, salty lips pushing against his own until Aramis opens his mouth. He's home and he couldn't feel better and surely, they could skip dinner and go straight for the cuddles. Porthos drags his beard against his boyfriend's cheek, hears the low whimper, feels the fingers tugging at his tee-shirt.

 

“Your ankle?”

 

“Good. For now.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

“Yes.” It's an exchange of breathed-in whispers, lips always touching, noses rubbing. “I've missed you.”

 

“You were in superb company, though.”

 

“Yes, I was.”

 

Her shoes have been discarded by the front door and Anne has thus lost a couple of inches as she patiently hovers in the living room, unwilling to interrupt their little moment. It's enough that they're letting her witness it. It would put anyone in a blissful mood to see all this love and care.

 

There's no hesitation to move forward, though, when she is beckoned closer. Aramis' hand is familiar in hers, it's as if she's been holding it for hours today. No, for some reason, it's Porthos who looks a little unsure of what's next.

 

Last Sunday, even when she was holding on to him, he couldn't stop shaking. Even after she'd kissed him goodbye, having moved from his cheek to his lips, he couldn't stop shaking. Even when he was smothering Aramis in a tight hug the second the door had closed on her, he couldn't stop shaking. Reality had met with his hopes and it was more extraordinary than he could possibly have imagined. No guilt, no remorse, nothing but joy in his heart, and a somehow inability to stop talking about it. Over and over. Amid his apologies that it might bother Aramis -it didn't-, Porthos was inexhaustible about how it felt like to kiss Anne.

 

How it had been so natural, so obvious that there could be no discomfort and that now, Porthos was really convinced he could do it. More than when it was just tentative touching. He can love them both. They're incredible people. Someone as possessive as he is, actually selfless and brave enough to open up to not only one, but two romantic partners. The look of pure amazement and pride on his face had triggered such profund contentment in Aramis as well.

 

After all, Aramis was the one jealous whenever he tried to picture Anne with that prick she dated before them. He was the one hanging on to her without acklowedging it. But not with Porthos. He has a fantastic boyfriend. One he understands so perfectly, one he wants to love to the end of the world and back. He wants to love her the same way, too.

 

So there really is no reason for Porthos to be nervous.

 

“Hey,” he says anyway. Anne has to chuckle.

 

“Hi.”

 

“What are you making, Porthos? Because I'm _starving_!” Aramis walks to the stove, stoops to squint inside the oven and licks his lips.

 

“Lasagna. From that book you bought me. So it shouldn't be ruined.”

 

“It doesn't look like it is. I'm sure it won't be.”

 

“You do like it, don't you?” Porthos hasn't stopped looking at Anne who hasn't stopped moving until she's very, very close because she's missed him, too. Her eyes shine around how tired she seems at the end of the day.

 

“I do.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Hi,” Anne says again, one hand flat on his chest and there really is absolutely not a single reason to be worried.

 

It's still too surreal to be able to kiss her hello, to really do it. To have soft lips against his, small and delicate and perfectly scented. Her mouth tastes of chocolate and vanilla and she is so pliant in his arms, folding against him and the careful hands on her back. She's tiny but she's warm and she's strong in spite of it all. For the time being, it can't get better than this.

 

Who would have thought Porthos could be light-headed because of so many kisses? He's tremendously lucky. He's shaking when they part, regardless of the lean fingers stroking his bare forearm. A comforting gesture, a bold one considering it's Anne. She is so bold with him, so loving everything that she doesn't want to stop. Not even pause and ponder her actions. They are wanted and appreciated and that's reason enough.

 

Cupboard doors bang, cutlery rattles as Aramis decides it's time to set the table and finally open the bottle of champagne they had bought for his birthday. His headache was too much of a bother to even think about drinking it on Sunday. It's been waiting for the proper occasion. Anne in their appartment, at home in Porthos' arms, happiness and relief glowing around them, a bright halo in which Aramis could step in at any time, wanted and welcome, it's a very acceptable occasion. A safe pairing with Italian food. Certainly. No matter the face Anne tries to make at the suggestion, rosy cheeks from her kissing. She hasn't had any so intense and complete in years and years. She had almost forgotten what it was like. She can breathe easily now.

 

“Earth to Anne,” Aramis has to repeat when no response comes. “Will you drink some if I open it?”

 

“Open what?”

 

“Geez. The champagne, Anne.”

 

He's brandishing the bottle widely and Porthos hopes he won't try to actually uncork it too soon or else it'll be ruined. And all over the floor.

 

“Sorry, it's just....” Anne clears her throat, decides there's no need to hide what she is thinking. “Porthos is a great kisser.”

 

He's left her floating out of her skin and she can finally understand why Aramis would never want to let go of his boyfriend. It's a honest and blunt admission which makes her cast her eyes down for a second. Porthos is still holding her close, no intention of moving. She likes it. Porthos snorts to mask his surprise, but Aramis couldn't be more serious.

 

“Of course he is. But do we want champagne or not?”

 

Porthos does snort more loudly this time, taking a step toward him to grab the bottle and safely put it out of reach of his animated boyfriend. All of this sounds and feels normal, as if the last remains of awkwardness are being brushed away one by one, slowly yet steadily. Being home with Anne around but behaving like she wasn't a new addition. Hardly anything changes in the men's behavior and Anne is being more forward than Porthos would have ever assumed. It's perfect in how normal it all is.

 

“After all,” Aramis presses, “it's our last evening here together alone without Mati. That's cause enough to drink.”

 

“Oh, by the way. Your mother and him called earlier.”

 

A wide grin breaks on Aramis' face. It's impossible not to notice it. Anne laughs. You can hear the sunshine and glee in Aramis' voice when he speaks.

 

“Did he have anything interesting to say?”

 

“Probably the same thing he told you when he called. I think....he was eating something with Nutella and maybe telling me they were going to see the blossoming trees? I don't know. It was too fast and too much Spanish. But he sounded happy. Thanks for asking him to call me.”

 

“Oh, we didn't. _He_ asked for you.”

 

Porthos stares at Aramis and his casual tone. Then he grabs his waist, drops one short kiss in his neck and sits him on his lap at the table.

 

“That's another reason to drink: Mati is fantastic.”

 

Anne finds a seat of her own, takes it upon herself to gather the lasagna and cut it. Aramis burns his tongue, how greedy that he is. Porthos only has one hand available, one arm circling Aramis' stomach, keeping him in place. It's a mess in his plate but his boyfriend isn't going anywhere. There's so much cheese in the dish that it's heaven in Aramis' mouth despite the burning throat. Nothing that some bubbles can't soothe. Anne doesn't say much, juggling between smiling at them, congratulating Porthos on his cooking skills and drinking.

 

“And, if we drink,” Aramis realizes after a while, “I might even get Anne to tell me a little more about Constance's wedding dress!”

 

Anne and Porthos both roll their eyes. Aramis almost stumbles from the other's lap, shifts to better accommodate his boyfriend. Anne wonders if he won't end up feeding Porthos. It might be easier than all the struggle they're putting themselves into for the sake of being close and cuddly.

 

“I promised I wouldn't.”

 

“You are so impatient, you make it sound like you are the one marrying her, 'mis. You won't shut up about it.”

 

“But I love weddings!”

 

“I do, too. I don't harrass people about their clothes, though.”

 

“But that's because I love love, Porthos. I love everything that has to do with it and she's going to be so phenomenal that I want July to be tomorrow already.”

 

“Why don't you loves _us_ for now and when the time comes, you'll love Constance's wedding while it's actually happening? You're very funny,” Porthos adds after Aramis has pouted. Anne very nearly spits out her water at his face. “Here have some more champagne,” he offers to apologize. Aramis accepts it, accepts the hot lips on his neck. He leans against Porthos, his plate empty and no room whatsoever left for anything else. It was so good.

 

“Or perhaps I should just buy you a wedding dress for yourself. Would that calm you?”

 

“Now, _you're_ very funny,” Aramis replies in a tone that suggests the complete opposite. Porthos does find his joke rather funny, his laughter rumbles through his boyfriend's body who cannot stay mad at him for too long then.

 

“Constance asked again,” Anne interrupts the banter. It's been on her mindsince the gym so although Aramis' motivation for bringing up the wedding is rather hilarious if not cute, it's a blessing in disguise. She didn't quite know how to address the issue otherwise. “If I'm bringing someone or not. I told her I didn't know yet.”

 

“But we're all going together, aren't we? I mean, we're taking Mati, but we're also taking you. Right?”

 

“We sure are,” Porthos agrees. He hopes so. Anne plays with the last piece of meat in her plate.

 

“Yes. But am I going as your friend or....? Am I....I mean, I know it's very early and everything so I wouldn't mind having to tell her that. That I'm not bringing anyone else. If you don't want to....because we haven't talked about this, even if I feel....very good right now. I wouldn't mind telling people, her and others, that we're just that. Friends, that is.”

 

“Why would we want that?”

 

Aramis all but jumps off Porthos' lap, his playful tone forgotten. Her uneasiness makes him turn serious. Not annoyed that she would suggest such a thing since he can understand why she'd wreck her brains over it. And not only because of how they'll go to the wedding. For all the days of their life the moment they'll live their love in broad daylight. He's upset that people could indeed make nasty comments about their relationship. He's used to it, perhaps Porthos is, too. It's never pleasant but sometimes they have to ignore ignorance and stupidity to lead a happy life. Anne isn't used to it. It might be nothing compared to the backlash of getting pregnant without having a proper husband. It's okay if she dreads it, people knowing what is going on between the three of them, no matter how great she indeed feels with the men. They're here to make it better. To help.

 

She's thoughtful in her stammering words, thinking that she could protect them from the world and its meanness. She would mind doing such a thing, though. Lying about her feelings. It's plain to see. Aramis would definitily mind too. They're not _just_ friends.

 

“Anne, I know we've agreed not to tell anybody about us for the time being. Because it feels nice knowing you're only mine for now. The both of you. But I love _you_ and there is no way in hell I'll be able to hide what's happening forever. I don't want to. I like when you're here and we don't have to prove anything to each other. When we have time to see where everything is going....”

 

“I like where it's going if I might add,” Porthos says.

 

“So do I. You're a part of us now, Anne. I can't think of it differently. We may be friends, and great ones at that, we're more than that. I'm aware it's not going to be easy everyday and there are days when you'll hate the world for people bitching about your lifestyle and how wrong or unnatural it is.”

 

“And there'll be days when you'll feel like crying for hours because it's unfair that your feelings shouldn't be considered. And you will. Cry, sob, think it's better to never go out again. When you'll want to punch something or someone for hurting you. Or that may just be me.”

 

“Me too. I did think it. I might even actually have broken a few stuff back in the days. Hurling them at walls which are as hard as the hearts of these thoughtless people. Sometimes you'll feel like you're alone in the wide world, that it shouldn't be possible for people to discard your love as simple lust or something unhealthy. But you're not alone. You won't be. You're stronger than all of them because you're open-minded and you've embraced what makes you truly happy. People will judge. People will always judge. There's no point refusing to admit this. But whatever they might say, they'll never make you feel worthless because you love someone. Or several someones. You're entitled to love anyone you damn want. And screw them. I mean, those judgemental assholes.”

 

Aramis takes a deep breath as Anne listens to the torrent of confessions, unable to even blink. It's pouring out of the men, from all the years they've had to probably fight and struggle because of their choices, of who they fell in love with or of people they were only involved with. Blinded by the pure love shining from Aramis and Porthos, how transcendent it is, she'd managed to forget that some would indeed be disgusted by it. It repulses her a little that seeing this adorable couple could lead to such a thought. They always claim it was lust at first sight for them, their way of joking about how they met. Anne believes it might also have been love at first sight, even if it took them longer to realize this.

 

They're strong, incredibly more than she is, to face the world every single day of their life, to have healthy relationships with friends and family. Perhaps they are lucky. Anne doesn't suppose she'll be as much. She wants them, though, so she presumes that'll be enough to grant her more strength and courage. Porthos and Aramis are with her. Supportive. Helpful. Two suddenly very serious faces looking at her from the other side of the table. Anne can hear the ticking of her watch in the silence.

 

“No one can tell you how to live your life, Anne,” Porthos says. “And I'm like Aramis. I don't want to be just your friend. I guess we can keep it to that for outsiders for a while longer, keep the rest between us while we're processing it all. It's thrilling to know we get to be so close to you and nobody is aware of how amazing it makes me feel.”

 

Aramis squirms at the hand so low on his hip it's basically clutching his ass. Porthos doesn't like talking about all of this, because of bad memories, yet Anne looks like she needs it and it was a talk they were going to have at one point anyway. It'll simply make the rest easier after tonight. Between them at least. To know they have each other's back.

 

“But the wedding is in July,” Porthos adds. “That's three months from now. This, us, isn't going to be kept indoors for that long, believe me. If it does survive until then.”

 

“It will.” Anne doesn't even hesitate about this. “I'm not....I was not attracted to you only because I couldn't have you, Porthos. I am because you have such a gentle soul that it was unavoidable. I need you. And Aramis, too. But I've always needed Aramis.”

 

These are determined words which ring in the kitchen with more power than anything they said during the weekend. They run deeper than simply wanting to spend some time together. They're paving the way for a longer relationship. Anne isn't afraid of that. With them, perhaps she isn't afraid of much.

 

“You're not going as our friend then,” Aramis decides. “You're going as our girlfriend.” This sends an electric shock to Porthos' heart. His arm tightens around his boyfriend's waist. Anne's eyes widen, along with the small smile replacing how she was pursing her lips. “If you're good with that. It is early like you said but we all know where we're going. I wouldn't let you smooch my boyfriend otherwise. No matter how terrific he is at it.”

 

“I think you just said I was hers as well, cupcake. She's more than welcome to the smooching. If you're good with that, of course.”

 

Surprisingly, Porthos' voice doesn't tremble. The teasing helps, his heart thumping against Aramis' back. He can hardly comprehend how their conversation can unfold so well when he hasn't even touched a drop of alcohol. It makes it easier to realize this is his life now. New troubles but new happiness and this surely outweights the problems lying ahead.

 

“I'd rather enjoy that,” Anne eventually replies, letting their handsome faces cast away the shadows. There'll be none when she's with them. She's feeling lighter already.

 

“Come here, then.”

 

She springs from her chair toward Aramis' hand and his kind eyes, his lush lips landing on her cheek. Porthos' eager yet still ones on hers. Trapped that she is in their arms and their care, there is no other safer place. Liquid love coils in her stomach, spreads along her spine, finds shelter all the way down to her fingertips. Her toes wiggle on the cold floortiles. Porthos is firm under her. Aramis is folding himself around her, pulling her deeper in their private sphere.

 

Anne has boyfriends. Two of them. That's almost as much as she had in her entire life before moving to France. Her brain can't process that much. So she shuts it down for the night.

 

“I'm really glad this is out of the air, too,” Porthos says. “And I know I take immense pride in being in splendid shape and all but I'm afraid the chair is going to collapse.”

 

One of his legs was already stiff from Aramis' weight. Anne isn't big yet it puts another strain on his thighs and he won't be able to do it much longer. Aramis sounds like he is cackling when he stands up, his lips and eyes drawn to Anne's flushed face. Not one ounce of worry on it anymore. He's satisfied with their accomplishment tonight.

 

They end up a cluster on the couch, Porthos' head on his boyfriend's lap, his eyes half-closing at the fingers playing with his hair. Anne shows them pictures of the upcoming exhibition at the museum, the one she's invited them to. The one they are taking Athos and Ninon to. Porthos hasn't seen his best friend since February. And he wasn't going to give Anne a rain check because Athos decided to come back to Paris out of the blue.

 

Aramis' caresses are too enjoyable for Porthos to pay much attention. Anne's voice is soothing with its gorgeous accent, enough to lull him to a comfortable drowsiness. Especially after her parents call and she reverts to Spanish. It echoes towards them from Mati's bedroom and its ajar door. Porthos has a soft spot for Spanish. It doesn't matter if he doesn't understand much. The warmth of it is good enough.

 

“They're going to be the toughest,” Aramis comments out loud. Porthos turns his head, bumps his nose against Aramis' shirt before looking up at the worrying lines on his forehead.

 

“Who knows? They might surprise you.”

 

Even as he says it, he doesn't believe it. He's never met her parents so he shouldn't judge but they've put his boyfriend and Anne in complicated situations in the past, they haven't been gentle or compassionate. Porthos can't help disliking them a bit.

 

“In a bad way more likely. They had ridiculous reactions to her pregnancy and now that...I mean, I'm not saying they are stupid because they are her parents so I respect them. A little. But they're barely accepting me as it is. Knowing their daughter is dating two men? I'm afraid they'll have senseless opinions, too.”

 

“She could be dating two girls.”

 

“Then they'd have a stroke, I'm sure. Don't imagine that will make them change their mind about us.”

 

“It's really not fair that they wouldn't support what makes her happy. You for one. They don't know about us yet so we can't know about this for certain.”

 

“They're helping with Mati nonetheless, they're crazy about him so in that way at least they haven't cast her out. And they won't or else they'd lose their grandson and I guess that'd be out of the question.”

 

“They probably won't undestand, though, right?”

 

Aramis makes a disbelieving noise at the question. He frowns.

 

“She's stubborn. They won't make her budge. Don't worry.”

 

“I'm not. Not for that. I don't like thinking they might hurt her by what they'll say. I'm aware we just told her it wouldn't be easy and she seems to have accepted it the moment she decided to be involved with us, it doesn't mean I'll be happy to see her suffer.”

 

“Neither will I. _We'll_ be supportive. We know how it is.”

 

“Yeah....” Porthos isn't pleased that he can claim experience in this domain but there's nothing he can do about that. “In all my troubles when I was younger, at least I suppose I was lucky not having to go through this with my dad.”

 

“No?”

 

“Nope. It's funny because I think it's the only actual time I was truly terrified he'd say he didn't want me anymore, regardless of the official papers. He might have been surprised when I told him about that boy I had met at camp and what I thought I felt for him. But then he said boys or girls, it didn't matter. They weren't allowed in my bedroom. He was more upset that I had broken up with Alice to date that guy. More than she was herself.”

 

“I like your dad. We'll keep some of his rules for when Mati will be older. Did...did they work?”

 

Porthos hesitates a second too long.

 

“....I had sneaky boyfriends.”

 

“And girlfriends?”

 

“Less but yeah. Those too.”

 

Aramis chuckles, watches Porthos' small curls around his fingers, how they bounce back in place. Porthos buries himself closer against his boyfriend's stomach, threads his fingers with the solid hand on his chest.

 

“I never had one of each at the same time,” Porthos adds. He kisses the closest thing he can that is Aramis: the patch of skin right above his belt now that his shirt doesn't cover his lower stomach.

 

“I almost did. When I was in school.”

 

“Weren't you too busy with all your championships?”

 

“I can multitask, sweetie. You know that. I had a boyfriend that nobody knew about. But I did. Until my sister met new friends in her swimming class? Or perhaps it was from her painting class. Anyway. One of them was _stunning_. Like wow. And she was older, and I was a teenager and....things happened.”

 

He wriggles his eyebrows and makes Porthos laugh out loud. Enough so that he sits up on the couch and traps Aramis, straddling his lap. Porthos licks his lips, shivers at the hands on the bare skin of his hips.

 

“I felt guilty afterward and I didn't quite want them to know about each other so I broke up with both of them. Not that I was really dating any of them.”

 

“You've always been a charmer.”

 

“And I like being charmed,” Aramis says, lifting his chin up to get a kiss. A second and a third. His hands push Porthos' face closer, they brush the other's neck and his cheek until Porthos has to sigh and breathe in his boyfriend's quiet laughter.

 

“I wonder how my dad will react.” Porthos chews on his lip.

 

“He loves you. He's understood everything we've brought you so far. I've no doubt he'll only want you to be happy. Which you are.”

 

“Yeah, so much. It matters a little what he thinks, you see? I don't want him to be less proud of me after he knows.”

 

“Why would he, sweetie? I truly think there's no worry to have here. We're growing on him. All of us.”

 

Porthos leans against the hand cupping his cheek. He'd be devastated if Tréville didn't approve of the relationship he wants to have. They've worked so hard, the both of them. And his dad has accepted so much, taking him in and all. So many changes for almost two decades. Aramis is correct, Porthos knows it deep down in his heart. He'll still fumble when they'll tell him.

 

“Your parents?”

 

“Oh, they'll be fine.” Aramis knows that for a fact. He isn't even afraid one bit about them. “They only married after Ali was born. Did I tell you that? Because my dad had to have a surgery and it was easier that way if things went the wrong way. Something like that. They'd be swell not being. They're two of the most open-minded people I've ever met and you see how I live. They must have realized long ago that I wasn't cut out for a conventional life. As long as I'm happy, healthy, and that I have a roof above my head, they're all right. Besides, being romantically fulfilled doesn't presuppose you should have a conventional, normal relationship. What's normal anyway?”

 

“Yeah....you're right.”

 

Porthos turns his head toward Mati's room and the flowing Spanish muffled by the door. He could almost take from Aramis and pray that Anne's parents will certainly be astonished, perhaps disappointed, but accepting in the end. It's her life, she lives it for herself, not for them. It's bound to sadden her a bit, if she doesn't get her parents' support. They live far away, they already have a struggling relationship with their daughter. Aramis has been mentioning how better she looked since moving to Paris. Porthos wants to help how ever he can. And he is positive he'll fight her parents if they hurt her too much.

 

That's not happening tonight, though. Nobody is telling anyone anything yet.

 

“We're not talking about that anymore,” he declares, stopping Aramis from replying with his mouth.

 

Aramis purrs in the kiss, rakes his nails on Porthos' bare back. He completely agrees. Parents have no power over their night. The evening belongs to Porthos and the tongue licking in his mouth. And to Anne who bumps his shoulder after she's sat down on the couch.

 

“They wanted to tell me how nice your parents were when they picked up Mati. And that your mom has no fashion sense whatsoever.”

 

“She so does. It's hers.”

 

“That's what I said.”

 

She pats Aramis' arm, somehow unable to look away from how the men are pressed together, Porthos heavy on his boyfriend, holding nothing back. She catches glimpses of dark skin whenever Aramis moves his hand up and down, Porthos' tee-shirt riding up everytime.

 

“We've decided we're not talking about parents anymore,” he repeats for her.

 

“Agreed.”

 

“Do you want to sleep here tonight? On the couch? You can help Porthos with the dishes if you do.”

 

Follows a high-pitched sound as Aramis sucks in a breath under the onslaught of Porthos' tickling fingers. Anne hastily retreats to a corner but not fast enough to avoid Aramis collapsing on top of her, his hair wild on her shoulder, his arms swatting to fight Porthos off.

 

“I cook....,” he growls, his face so close to Aramis', their noses bump.

 

“.....I clean. I know! I know! Get off me!” Aramis is hicupping his words, while Anne has moved from being slightly distaught by the attack to being greatly amused. Aramis can feel her chest vibrate with laughter against his back. “Get off me! We're crushing Anne!”

 

“Right. Sorry.” Porthos isn't, winking at her as he pulls Aramis up. Anne could indeed spend her life right there with them. “You are welcome to stay but don't be tricked by this idiot trying to bend the rules. Hide that tongue or I'll catch it,” he adds, Aramis doing no such thing.

 

“That sounds like a dare. Go on.”

 

Aramis is rewarded with Porthos' hand pushing his greedy mouth away. He's chuckling while doing it, saliva on his palm.

 

“Do you want to stay?”

 

“I can't. I work early and I've no change of clothes and I noticed this when I was on the phone.”

 

There's a large red stain on her blue pants, tomato sauce and cheese. She's not wearing those tomorrow. Not that she ever wears the same outfit twice in a row. The men hear the disappointment in her voice, though, one she doesn't try to conceal.

 

“I'll stay on Saturday. When Mati will be back.”

 

This faintly satisfies Aramis, still a bit out of breath but nevertheless snuggling under Porthos' arm. He lets her sink against his shoulder as well. She may not be staying to sleep, she isn't going anywhere anytime soon either.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a filler chapter but then I read [Boy Erased (Garrad Conley) ](http://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/316194/boy-erased-by-garrard-conley/9781594633010/) and it was such a profund and heart-breaking read that it triggered the whole conversation about the world being ignorant about love how ever it is expressed and then the conversation about parents.


	9. The Museum

The suit will do for now, Porthos decides, adjusting his jacket in front of the mirror in his office. It's good enough for public transportation. He nevertheless pockets the tie since he's more than likely to actually have to wear it. The invitations Anne gave them for the opening of her exhibition didn't talk about a particular dress code. But she's mentioned important people coming, ambassadors and what-not. His dad even received one at the Ministry, not because he is acquainted with Anne but because of his position. The tie will most certainly be required. Besides, Aramis chose it for his boyfriend in the morning. The sandstone one that he fancies so much. He'll be crushed if Porthos doesn't wear it. Not now, though.

 

Deeming it good as it is, Porthos checks the time, strides out of his office and curses the weather for the rain. Again. He hates spring. He hates April. Not because it's the month when he met Aramis or the month when they moved forward with Anne. Because of all these unexpected showers when it was spectacularly sunny the day before. Porthos silently thanks Aramis for suggesting the umbrella in the morning.

 

“Wow! Looking good, boss!” an employee exclaims.

 

It's peculiar clothing for the gym. Too formal. There was no time to go back home to change and then make it on time at the museum. Porthos is hoping he'll catch some alone time with Anne. It'll be significantly reduced starting the next day with Mati coming back to Paris. Porthos scowls at the man whirling his chair behind the front desk.

 

“You look terrific, Porthos!” another one shouts from the other side of the room. Now, Porthos can't help grinning. He smoothes his jacket, pulls on the shirt at his wrists.

 

“I'll see you tomorrow. Don't set the place on fire. Call if there's a problem.”

 

“That won't be necessary. Go get some culture for all of us.”

 

“And drink some champagne!”

 

He thinks he hears someone asking that he smuggles some for the staff, but the doors have already shut behind him. He won't turn back and give them the pleasure of witnessing how funny he finds them. Sometimes, Porthos almost doesn't feel like he's the boss. He loves his job.

 

The rain, he could do without. There's a damp smell in the subway, wet clothes and wet shoes and muddy floors. Car tires splashing in puddles until finally, Porthos finds his way to Anne's museum and can make it inside.

 

It's closed early so the rooms are mostly empty. Somehow, he's allowed in before the event actually starts. Anne must be thanked for that, he supposes. A random woman tells him to wait downstairs so he shuffles and tries to inspect as many works of art as he can to pass the time. Paintings on wooden panels. Statues. So many saints. After all, the place displays medieval art so that's really no surprise. Porthos wishes Aramis could already be here to provide more information. Useful ones, cheeky ones.

 

The clicking of heels makes him wipe his head and forget all about what's behind the protective glass. Certainly, Anne changed at work, too. There's no way she would have spent the day in the long, flowing red gown which draps over one shoulder and hugs her curves so perfectly that Porthos knows he's staring. It's silk, he guesses after touching it, careful fingers on her waist. It's soft and light and it shimmers in the dim spotlights. Anne is almost his height, barely having to stretch to kiss him hello. Porthos breathes in the spicy perfume.

 

“I'm glad you're here early. I've been going crazy.”

 

“You're doing a great job. You look stunning.”

 

She sighs and clutches his arm. Her heart calms down thanks to his presence and the comfort it brings her. He looks dashing, too. Anne fumbles with her hair, grabs his hand and leads him to a more private part of the museum. Porthos is still holding on to her after she's closed her office door.

 

“You'd _think_ the caterer would know I have more important things to do than spend hours harassing them because they've misplaced half of the food and they're short-staffed.”

 

Anne is the one stepping away to collect the earrings scattered on the desk. Porthos watches her fuss with the kind of awe he'll always have when it comes to Anne. He's moved on from being only Aramis' boyfriend to being a person she's incredibly at ease with, letting him in on everything. He's moved on to being her boyfriend, too. It's only been two days and it's the first time he sees her again since they've decided on their new titles, yet Porthos smiles at the thought. She's adorable in her distress. He wants to hug her but he's afraid he'd crease her dress.

 

“They _know_ who's coming tonight. They _know_ how important it is but no. I won't serve only orange juice and I've had to _yell_ for them to get a move on. Seriously. Why can't everyone be as efficient as those security guards? They didn't give you any troubles, did they?”

 

“Nope. Very nice and polite.”

 

“Good. Here, give me that. It can stay here.”

 

She makes to take his umbrella but Porthos doesn't want rain on her clothes so he puts it by the door by himself. Anne stoops to tie a loose shoe, cursing, one hand on her desk to keep her balance. He wonders if she's wearing anything under the red fabric because he can't really see underwear flawing the perfect gown.

 

Big mistake. Porthos feels hot all over. It's too much to imagine Anne might only have that dress on. The dress in itself is a problem. He could gaze at it, at her, all night long. Preferably without a crowd of people hovering around them, and checking her out like he is doing except he is allowed to. Aramis is, as well, when he'll join them. The others? Not so much. It's going to be a long night. Porthos would close his eyes to get his feelings in check. His urges, too. It'd be an outrage to be deprived of her sublime appearance. Even for a few seconds.

 

Porthos is so smitten. It's hopeless.

 

He chuckles at it, but Anne doesn't notice, messing with her hair again.

 

“And then, some lights went out the second the technician was called someplace else and you'll never believe it, but, the curator had to change them. The curator! On a stepladder! I just....”

 

She throws her hands in the air, fiddles with her strap, gets a curl stuck in it whereas it was totally fine before, and Porthos knows he has to intervene.

 

“You look fantastic, Anne,” he says calmly, his fingers on hers so she lets go of her clothing and he can help free the hair. His fingers stay on her shoulder afterward, grazing the skin until the heaving subsides. Until Anne has relaxed a bit. “Fabulous, even. And your hair is fine. Aramis will be jealous, it's so shiny and wavy.”

 

This earns him a quiet laugh. Anne lets him thread their fingers together and then there's only the thin dress between him and her and it's overwhelming. It cancels out all the stupidity of the day. The evening is going to be splendid.

 

Porthos would kiss her to make her feel better. He would. No hesitation whatsoever. Not anymore. Even if Aramis isn't there. Kisses in his absence, he's good with. For all the kissing Aramis doesn't do with Anne, he sure is pretty excited and enthusiastic that his boyfriend can do it. If they can be happy even when he isn't around, in that sense, Aramis is all for it. He loves love so much, he told them, he loves _them_ so much, that he wants the other two to get as much as they can. From each other but also from the knowledge that Aramis is accepting their relationship without resentment.

 

Porthos would kiss her. Definitely. And yet....

 

“Can I kiss you? Or will that ruin your lipstick?”

 

Anne has been fussing over so many details that he has to make sure. Her lips are a bright glossy pink now that she's just re-applied some. Porthos still tastes some on his own mouth from earlier when he wets his lips.

 

“That's a mess I don't mind correcting.”

 

It sounds like a relieved whisper as she wraps her arms around his neck. Perfect polished nails run in his hair. She's pressing so completely against him that Porthos decides it doesn't matter if her dress is indeed a little creased. His hands grip her hips and she whimpers, gasps around his tongue. Gasps at the beard on her cheek, the lips there. It's a short kiss, too short. Too long already since it might have calmed her, it's also made her so flushed that she's forgotten everything she's supposed to say to introduce the new exhibition.

 

“I'm really happy I'm here with you tonight,” Porthos says, smoothing her dress for the sake of rubbing his hand down her side. “It will be spectacular.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

“It will.”

 

“Where is your tie? Don't you have a tie? You need a tie. Let me find you one.”

 

“I've got one, no worries.”

 

He stops her short, never asking why she would even have some lying around in her office. There are some clutters on shelves and on her desk but he'd be surprised if she could supply anything to improve his look. Porthos can't refrain from chuckling at her desire that everything should be above perfection.

 

Anne's breath is hot on his neck while she ties it for him. Steady hands flat on his chest, his heartbeat against her palm. He's warm and he looks at her with incredible kindness. How could it not even have been a whole week since their first date? It's surreal. It was the same with Aramis at the beginning. It felt like months when they had only been going out for a few days. Life is amazing. Porthos loves it almost as much as he loves Aramis and Anne. He's been having the best time with them.

 

Anne has linked her arm with his after she's been called back to the exhibition rooms and the guests who are starting to arrive. It's safer to walk down the stairs with Porthos' help. Her eyes find Aramis first thing among the small crowd. Outshining everyone else, hands deep in his pockets, his tie and jacket better ironed than they were for their date. Aramis knows how fussy she is about these events, even though it's the first one he actually attends. She used to call him anytime she hosted one.

 

Porthos is pleased to see his boyfriend can't hide his reaction at seeing Anne either. He's gaping, an exact mirror image of how Porthos must have looked. Unfortunately, Aramis hardly has time to digest it all, to compliment her before she has to rush off somewhere else. Her hips sway with her fast pace, her steps are flawless, worthy of a model. Aramis shakes his head.

 

“She has no idea, does she?” he asks Porthos, leaning against the hand on his back.

 

“Of what?”

 

“What she does to me. To us, I imagine.”

 

“I don't know. What is she doing to you?”

 

“I'm not telling you right now. I'd embarrass myself.”

 

Aramis pulls on his collar. He is starting to get used to his changing feelings for Anne, but it'll always take him aback. It's too hot in his clothes and he wonders how he'll make it through the evening if he has to see Anne like this for hours. These are the most magnificent clothes he's ever seen her wear, so different from casual jeans or her blouses for regular workdays. If he believed her dress from Saturday was the best, he's just been proved wrong.

 

Porthos smirks, gives him a quick kiss.

 

“You've got lipstick all over your mouth, sweetie.”

 

Aramis' eyes laugh as he licks his to get rid of it. His thumb wipes at Porthos' lips, so slow that it's indecent. Even more when Porthos kisses it. Aramis' eyes then widen and he swallows thickly. It's too hot in his pants. His boyfriend is too handsome as well. Aramis shouldn't be allowed in public with such extraordinary boyfriend and girlfriend. Damn them, they're too attractive.

 

“But you'll tell me later, won't you?”

 

Porthos' tongue touches Aramis' thumb which is withdrawn quickly before he does something which would shame them all. If he could kiss Porthos as passionately as Anne did to get lipstick even in his boyfriend's beard, he wouldn't hesitate. If he could, he'd ravish Porthos right there, regardless of the crucifixes and the biblical paintings on the walls.

 

Porthos fixes Aramis' hair, arranging the curls like he loves them, tousling the ones falling on his boyfriend's forehead. Innocent, caring gestures contrasting with all that lies behind his question. He knows they're taking things slow with Anne, letting her set the pace, but it's only been a week since he could really touch her and he's itching to do more. Itching to do with her what he is now positive is also on Aramis' mind. Even hearing her clear voice in the hubbub, her polite laughter, it's doing things to him that are not appropriate for this type of social events. He _needs_ Aramis to tell him what he is thinking about. He also needs to drink.

 

“You bet,” Aramis eventually promises, mischief in his tinkling eyes. He's pretty. Porthos squeezes his waist, kisses his cheek, thanks all the saints he must have offended when finally he finds Athos and Ninon entering the room and they'll make a great diversion.

 

Their train arrived only a couple of hours ago but you wouldn't be able to tell. Hugging his best friend that he's missed tremendously isn't a problem, no matter how much Athos object to being smothered in such a fashion. He has a lot of complaints to make about England, to Aramis' great amusement. About the weather, and the food, and the buses, and the terrible accents, and the lack of proper department stores. The pubs are okay, though. So are the theatres. And he's enchanted to be back even if it's only for a weekend. Somehow, he doesn't want to see Ninon go back by herself so he won't stay longer. With the long weekends coming in May and June, he swears they'll come to Paris more often.

 

Porthos wouldn't dare complain. Athos is starting to enjoy a happier life, much like he is doing. But he's missed him. The football and the nights in his studio with Flea and Charon. And Alice that he hardly sees otherwise. He's glad they had planned to come to the exhibition anyway. He's more grateful Anne could extend the invitation to the private viewing to Athos and Ninon.

 

It feels like there would be so much to discuss, which they can't do here. Aramis delights Ninon with tales about Mati, though, and this is a conversation which could go on for hours, longer than the one their boyfriends are having about football championships. Finally. Aramis is more than sassy when it comes to mentioning that the Spanish teams are being more successful than the French ones in the European tournament. Porthos punches his shoulder, a more effective way of protesting than Athos' dark glare.

 

Aramis keeps on laughing, hanging on to his boyfriend, looking at the people milling about. A different crowd than their own. Stiff. And the buzz of conversations never too loud. Until it totally dies down and after that, Aramis will be unable to say what Anne was talking about out there in front of the guests. He grips a handful of Porthos' jacket, mesmerized by the rhythm of her voice, how at ease she sounds and looks. How she manages to captivate everyone even when she hands the mic to the curator and then the random yet very important guests, an ambassador and what ever Minister has been invited.

 

He's proud of her, to finally be able to see all the work she's done, getting these beautiful paintings and artefacts to Paris for a few months. Aramis is glad he hasn't gotten anything to drink yet so he is free to clap for as long as he wants to. Unlike Porthos. So Aramis claps for the two of them.

 

“See? It was perfect!” Porthos congratulates her once she's made her way to them. She's glowing, accepting the champagne from a nearby waiter. Aramis bends and kisses her cheek. Softly, close to her ear.

 

“I forgot a couple of things at the beginning but they were still said so yes, it was good.”

 

“Well, we couldn't tell. Even the curator wasn't as good as you were,” Aramis whispers and Anne laughs, fiddles with her necklace and waits for an introduction to their friends.

 

Athos she's met earlier last summer when she moved to Paris. Ninon is a totally new face. Kind and polite and very interested in all that Anne has to say. Thanking her profusely for the invitation, inquiring more about some of the works on display, soon disappearing with her host in another part of the exhibition to study something more closely. Leaving the men to themselves, the girls having clearly hit it off in in less than five minutes.

 

“And now they're friends,” Aramis says. Porthos laughs, hands him a drink.

 

“Ninon hadn't missed the football talks, that's why.”

 

“Is England so bad? Really?”

 

“It's actually okay for photography. It rains so much.”

 

“You must be thrilled to be blessed with our gorgeous weather then.”

 

Sarcasm drips from Porthos' words. It looks like it's the dead of the night outside because of the large clouds and the rain which hasn't stopped. They can see it fall in the courtyard if they glance out of the window.

 

Aramis chuckles, shifts closer to Porthos and wonders whether it'd be appropriate to hold his hand there. Then he decides he doesn't care and does it. He's being a supportive and well-groomed boyfriend already. He can claim some small reward. Porthos allows the fingers to slip against his palm, never missing a beat in the discussion. Athos loves it in Cambridge. He also loves to complain and would be damned if he did smile. But his mumbles have been missed.

 

“Come on,” Porthos urges them. “Since our guide has somewhat disappeared, _you_ can tell us some stuff about the paintings. And _you_ ,” he adds for Aramis, “can tell us about the people in them. The more gruesome, the better.”

 

“You do know that martyrs died for something formidable and because people were misinformed and too superstitious, right?”

 

“Sure,” Porthos shrugs. “But I still enjoy your stories, 'mis.”

 

Aramis snorts, shakes his head, finishes his drink and follows Athos' lead to please his boyfriend.

 

“Oh, I've sold some of your photos we made when we first met,” Athos casually mentions some time during their little tour. Aramis is surprised some were still for sale. He remembers how well this exhibition had been received and how people were ready to purchase some on that very night. “I'll have to give you your commission. If not this weekend, next month.”

 

“You don't have to.”

 

Athos glowers, Aramis using it as an excuse to clutch Porthos' arm and hide his face against the other's shoulder.

 

“Don't scare my boyfriend, will you?”

 

It feels like nothing has changed in spite of the months spent apart. Porthos is still laughing and teasing Athos. What he gets for answers are mutters and curses. Demands for more champagne. Porthos kisses Aramis' forehead, snorts when Athos glares at him, too, and hurries to another room, obviously expecting the others to follow.

 

“He hasn't improved one bit on that aspect.”

 

“You're happy he's back.” Porthos can't argue with Aramis.

 

“Yeah. I've missed making his life hell. But you and Anne are great distractions from my best friend.”

 

“You're so popular, sweetie. Everyone loves you.”

 

“I don't know about everyone in the world. This old dude looks like his eyes are going to pop out if you don't take a step back.”

 

Porthos tips his chin somewhere behind his boyfriend who wipes his head, absolutely not discreetly.

 

“Well, in that case....”

 

Aramis leans closer to Porthos, plants a kiss on his cheek, and a quick one on his lips. They stretch into a smile against his, Porthos patting his back. Aramis looks smug. Quite enjoying it all. The evening would be even better if they could find Anne again. He's aware he can't be as physical with her as he is with Porthos, because it's her workplace, her boss is here. She has crucial things to do, socializing and making connections. And also because they all said they weren't making anything official yet. Except it's growing more and more difficult.

 

Especially when he can spot her even at the far side of the large room, animated and passionate, clearly in her element and all traces of her previous nervosity gone. It sucks people in, she's like a magnet and Athos has given up trying to come up with explanations for Porthos to go and listen to her with Ninon. Aramis feels Porthos all but dashing as well, and Anne's eyes sparkle when she notices they are back.

 

She's glad they don't find the evening boring. Porthos seems so interested, his finger tapping her bare shoulder when he wants her attention to congratulate her yet again. Anne wonders if it's possible to kiss someone with her eyes. It looks like it's what they're doing. She's drawn to him, to them both, how ecstatic they are. Not faking it. Exhuberant when they sneak to a regular exhibition hall to see the tapestries with the unicorns. The actual ones. Porthos doesn't know where to look anymore. It'd almost make him love museums as much as Aramis does. He's forgotten this is only the beginning of his night. It wouldn't be so tiresome to stay here.

 

“Will you come with us to the club?” Ninon asks Anne after a while. “I don't suppose the boys invited you?”

 

“We're meeting Flea and Charon there,” Porthos adds. “And we won't stay long. I've to work in the morning, but there's good music and Athos always has a private booth.”

 

There is expectancy in his tone, how he stresses the music and it makes Anne think back on the previous weekend and their dancing. She's desperate to do it again. To go out with Aramis and him again. Just the three of them.

 

“I have to stay here until the end. Unfortunately. I would have loved to, though.”

 

“What about after?”

 

“I think when the euphoria of it will be gone, I'll only want to sleep.” Anne laughs and Athos is the first one to nod.

 

“I get like this after I've hosted a private viewing, too.”

 

“You also need lots of alcohol. Don't forget about that.” Porthos has lost count of all the glaring he's been subjected to tonight.

 

“Another time, perhaps,” Ninon hopes. “It was great meeting you.”

 

Anne can't agree more, concealing how much she doesn't want the men to leave by saying it back to her. They could find so much to talk about and she really wants to see Ninon more often in the future.

 

Two goodbyes and two kisses on her cheeks later, Anne looks down at her refined gown and the heels killing her, wishing that if she had worn a less over-the-top outfit, she might have been able to join them after all. But Flea and her aren't the best of friends and she wouldn't have been comfortable being too close to Porthos under her scrutiny. Anne cannot wait for the following evening for that. In the privacy of their home. She's receiving so many praises at the museum that it almost makes it bearable to know Porthos and Aramis are going out by themselves. With friends, of course, but without her.

 

It would have been too good to be true if the sky had cleared in the last hour. Aramis sighs, pulls his hood over his head, steps in a puddle and swears at the water soaking his shoe. Athos grunts, does the same and then it's Porthos who is laughing at loud.

 

“You laugh all you want,” his best friend protests, “you're the one who's going to be drenched.” Athos is safe under the umbrella Ninon will be using soon, but Porthos has no protection whatsoever. He pats the air around him, hands coming up empty.

 

“Shit. I forgot it in Anne's office.”

 

“I'm on it!” Aramis exclaims, rushing back inside, shaking the hood off. There's the entire length of the courtyard to cross to reach the entrance of the museum so Porthos is thankful he doesn't have to do that. There's another motivation behind Aramis' actions, one he is well aware of, one he cannot blame him for.

 

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” Aramis cuts in the conversation, his hand on Anne's elbow. “Good evening. Excuse me. Porthos forgot his umbrella in your office.”

 

“Of course. I'll be back in a minute, gentlemen.”

 

Not if Aramis has any say in the matter, no she won't. Her small circle bows their heads at her when she leaves, and Aramis' fingers glide from her elbow to her hand once they are out of view of the quiet crowd. Anne sighs a little in relief at the unexpected interruption and break. She squeezes the fingers.

 

“I haven't had the chance to tell you how majestic you are tonight,” he says when the door closes on them and the din downstairs has been muffled. His eyes don't leave hers as he professes it because for these short minutes they're alone and he can look at her. Really look at her. He has no word for how stunning she is. She takes his breath away like she has literally never done it before.

 

“I'm wearing your earrings.”

 

“I know. I've noticed. They're perfect for the dress.”

 

Aramis rakes his eyes up and down the length of it, wills his mind to stop blocking on how flawless Anne is, how it's impossible for him to come up with ways to improve it. She's a picture of everything that he loves, that he desires and she's wearing an old birthday gift. The pieces of jewelry she always wears for big events. They give her courage.

 

“Constance thought so, too.”

 

“Ah. I should have known. She chose the best gown possible.”

 

Anne chuckles awkwardly, casts her eyes down to where he's playing with her fingers, pulling her a little closer. There's no mistaking the invisible attraction. He's been frantically wishing he could be this close to her all evening long, for reasons which make his heart and head swirl. For reasons so obvious they are bursting in his mind and they're all he can focus on.

 

One raindrop falls from his hair to her red strap and the fabric darkens.

 

“I'm very proud of you, you know, Anne. Of all the work you've done tonight. It's amazing and you're so excellent at it. One day you'll run a museum of your own. I've no doubt.”

 

“Do you really think so?”

 

“Positive. You've done all of this like a champion. And all that you've done before. In Madrid. With a baby. With a toddler. Almost by yourself. You're so accomplished and you deserve it. And more. We're very lucky you're sharing it with us.”

 

There's such intensity on his face, such softness in what he tells her. Her smile grows larger. It's nice to hear it coming from Aramis. She shivers when he winds a long curl around a finger, nails on her neck. He stays silent for a minute, watching her, watching her delicate complexion and the long eyelashes and the golden power on her eyelids after she's closed them. He kisses her cheek. It's a small loving gesture which makes her crave more. Aramis is fantastic.

 

“I wouldn't have done your hair like that, though.” He frowns, cocks his head to study her. “It hides your shoulders and that should never happen.”

 

Slowly, steadily, he slides his hand over her shoulder, down her arm and then up again.

 

“What? Are you a hairdresser now, too?”

 

“Nope. But you should have worn it up, like this, with a headband or something. So we could see my earrings and your perfect shoulders.”

 

The way he says the word, again and again, it sounds like a prayer. Anne takes a deep breath.

 

“Well, you weren't quite there to help me, were you?”

 

“I'm here now.”

 

Aramis has gathered as much hair as he could, holding it up, showing her what he envisioned. Anne can't process more than the feeling of his nails caressing her locks and how relaxing it is. His breath catches, because she's so close that if she breathes out, he feels it on his skin. His whisper brushes her cheek, hot and precious.

 

She's overjoyed that he is here indeed. To touch her, to banter. To be a criticizing and cheeky friend. To be a caring boyfriend. Affectionate and considerate.

 

“Is it okay....,” she starts.

 

“I'm going to kiss you now,” he can't help interrupting. Anticipation makes him fumble with his words. He wasn't expecting wanting this tonight. Now he can't imagine it any other way. “If that's all right.”

 

She can't be surprised. That's exactly what she wanted to ask as well. He's all over her, it's impossible to feel or hear anything that isn't Aramis. Dark eyes, kind eyes, curls which fall around his face, her hands buried in them. Anne needs it like she needs air and sunshine. It's delirious in how powerful it is.

 

Her parted lips are invitation enough, how she sinks against him, flushed, even before he's actually kissing her. Sparks do awaken under his skin when he does, Anne pushing herself up. Her mouth on his first. Hair cascades down her back when he grips her waist, grabs the fabric and realizes this is a part of his life he's been missing for so long without being aware of it. It clicks and it sends pure joy to his thumping heart. To his buzzing ears. To his tingling fingers.

 

There's no hurry, just the two of them rediscovering what they had lost. Her hand in his hair, one on the side of his neck, rubbing. Her mouth moving slowly, little whimpers disrupting the silent atmosphere. Aramis' tongue bold as soon as she sighs long enough for him to lick in her mouth, to suck on her tongue. Greedy like he would never have imagined. But Anne is so beautiful, inside and out and with feelings and hidden desires clicking into place, it's resurfaced. What Aramis strongly believed didn't even exist in the first place.

 

What a heresy he's been living through all these years.

 

It's fabulous to feel her so eager, so desperate for more. So reluctant to let go. She's the one coming back again and again, anchoring herself on his shoulders, bunching his jacket, hands tight on it.

 

Like her lips on Aramis'. Letting him to what he wants except step away and put an end to it. He's intoxicating and tasty and she's been waiting so long for this. Unsure of what she wanted from him. Whether it was the same she wanted from Porthos. Unsure even two days beforehand that she wanted to push this relationship with Aramis further. She's been an idiot for such a long time. So many months since moving to France. Anne wants all that Aramis can and wishes to give her. Friendship and support. Hands to hold, skin to kiss. Especially this now. It's exhilirating and impossible to stop.

 

He's her entire world for all the minutes they're kissing. Nothing else matters.

 

Unconsciously, Aramis' hand settles lower on her hip, on the curve of her lower back and Anne gasps, breaks the kiss and regrets her reaction when the hand vanishes altogether.

 

“Sorry, I....” Aramis doesn't want to have ruined everything.

 

“It's fine. It's more than fine.”

 

Anne giggles, breathes out a shudder which shakes her entire body before he engulfs her in a hug.

 

“This wasn't so bad,” Aramis hazards.

 

Soft lips kiss his neck and he's the one trembling now. He understands Porthos.

 

Anne couldn't put into words how natural it was. How it fills holes in her heart, alongside the ones Porthos has also been mending. Weaving together to map a dreamy love, but one she is ready to embrace. One she craves more and more with each passing day, if not hour, spent with the men.

 

“You should criticize my hair more often.”

 

Aramis' hoarse laughter echoes in the room, bounces on the walls, fills her with grace and delight and her smile shines with glee. Her name is a sigh, light on her cheek, his arms tight on her and her hands clutching his shoulders. For all the exceptional emotions and sensations of what they've just done, it seems incredibly natural. As meant to be with Aramis as it feels with Porthos. Perhaps she can truly do it now, she knows she can. There's nothing to fear, nobody to fool. Anne would have been lying if she said she hadn't wondered what kissing Aramis would be like after all these years.

 

This isn't what she was brought up to believe in yet right this second, with Aramis next to her and her mind drifting from him to Porthos and back, there can be no other option. It has to be the two of them. No choosing. This is a much better evening than she could have imagined. It's dizzying.

 

Whether they are on her cheek, her neck or her mouth, Aramis' lips are divine. All the reverent praises they form, even in the silence. This hasn't changed. It's merely grown better. Stronger. More magical. Anne has been living on a cloud for the past week.

 

There's no time to startle at the knock on the door and no time to move to a respectable distance before Porthos comes in. He takes a moment to take it all in: the dishevelled hair, the bright cheeks and Aramis as close to Anne as he can. Then he smirks.

 

“There you are. We were starting to think you'd abandoned us.”

 

“Isn't one of your hobbies pestering Athos?” Despite having cleared it, Aramis' voice still breaks.

 

“Sure it is, but even that is better with you around. You're good?”

 

How they look is enough for them to not have to answer the question, but Aramis nods dreamily. He has to let go of Anne a little so that he slip one arm around Porthos' waist. There, that's better, he says, and Porthos ruffles his hair, nuzzles his cheek with his nose.

 

“Good? Both of you?” he asks again for Anne, who can't utter any words either, emotions seizing her throat. It takes a short while before she can get used to what has happened, to them both here with her.

 

“Aramis was giving me advice on my hairstyle....Among other things.”

 

“Really? By messing with it? Stay in the publishing business, 'mis. It's safer.”

 

Anne finally snaps out of her trance at his remark which triggers some mild panic as she checks her face, fusses over her hair. Porthos' lips are very, very close to his boyfriend's ear now that he somehow has most of his attention.

 

“You've got lipstick all over your mouth, cupcake.” Aramis leans against him, a glitter in his awestruck gaze. “Gimme some.”

 

Aramis giggles, indulges him, kisses a sturdy mouth and Porthos' acceptance of what the others have done. He would have preferred to be there to watch, to see how marvelous it must have been. There'll be repeats, Porthos is certain. For the time being, he will have to live with Aramis' recollections and his own experience of kissing them both to conjure images. They can't stay in her office all night after all. How ever promising that would be.

 


	10. The Cherry Vodka

Going out to nightclubs twice in a week, it feels like Aramis is getting a taste back of how his life was before Mati moved to Paris. It's refreshing not to have to care about anything but having fun. It's nice to have been able, and still be for that matter, to concentrate on building relationships and emotions which don't solely revolve around giving his son a healthy and appropriate life.

 

Porthos must be feeling the same, reunited with friends he used to see all the time and more before meeting his boyfriend. Changes that he never minded, for the sake of creating an atmosphere in which he could bloom like he would never have imagined. Yet, for the past week, it's been a relief to not have to worry about Mati. About dinner, toys, bath time, tantrums for more TV, yucky food and shouts to put on clothes. Because even when Mati stays with his mother for the week, he's nonetheless on the men's mind. When they'll have to go grocery shopping, when they'll have to change the sheets for his bed. When he'll show up at the gym with Anne anyway. And with their precise schedule all but disappearing now that they've cleared the air, Porthos supposes that Mati will be around even more often. It's bound to be a bit overwhelming at times.

 

So he's determined to enjoy his last Mati-free night as best as he can. The museum was a delight, Anne a vision sent from the gods and the giddy Aramis hanging on to him even after they're sitting in the club the perfect companion for the rest of the evening. It's doing things to Porthos' mind, to imagine the kissing he could have stumbled upon if he had interrupted the others only one or two minutes earlier than he did.

 

In spite of her fear that she would look too dishevelled to appear in public again, Anne had felt and looked more beautiful in her daze. Aramis has been looking at his boyfriend with sparkling eyes for the past half hour. Not enough privacy to discuss it, though, how ever impatient he is. It's been magical beyond expectations to kiss her and he knows Porthos can relate. He wishes she could have joined them. To dance, to drink, to laugh.

 

But again, they're going to spend the best part of their weekend together. Alone. Without interfering friends. With their son but Anne is staying the night and at one point, the boy will be in bed. Leaving all his parents to themselves.

 

After her office, Aramis is starting to wonder where exactly she'll choose to sleep and it's making the blood boil in his veins. They've loosened ties and discarded jackets in a pile on the large sofa taking most of the room in the private booth Athos always books because this furious dancing crowd makes him uncomfortable. The booth overlooks the dancefloor, Flea almost hanging off the balcony while she cranes her head to see what's happening everywhere.

 

Porthos growls when Aramis whispers about Anne's sleeping arrangements. His lips brush Porthos' ear, his hand casually dropped on his boyfriend's thigh, so high that Aramis can feel the heat under his palm. Porthos shifts, pushes the other's fingers higher up doing so and kisses him to shut him up. He doesn't need this particular teasing while he's with his closest friends.

 

Despite the music, Aramis' moans resonate in Porthos' mouth. Around their tongues and the wetness and if they could lose their shirts as well, they would. Porthos rests his forehead against Aramis', in a feat gathers the naughty hand, holds it tight and as far away as he can from his crotch. Aramis feels the hot and ragged breathing on his cheek, swollen lips closing on his ear.

 

“Enough talking about that, 'mis.”

 

“Why? Don't you like it?”

 

“I do. Too much for here. You need to shut up for now.”

 

There's a mischievous tinkle in Aramis' eyes instead of an actual reply. One foot rubbing up Porthos' calf and fingers creeping up his neck, grazing his hair. Porthos has to close his eyes and kiss Aramis again.

 

“You're a menace,” he manages to say. It doesn't deter Aramis. Of course it doesn't.

 

“But I'm _your_ menace. And....you love it.”

 

It's sinful all the lust which drips from Aramis' mouth. It's going to be a long night. A wonderful and exciting one if he's decided to be so much of a tease. Porthos can't even deny it. Aramis is crawling under his skin and he _adores_ it.

 

Not how Flea kicks his chin sitting by his side.

 

“Your best friend's back and you two act like you should get a room instead of spending time with him.”

 

Porthos would glare but it'd be too much trouble. After a few sips of the colourful drink Aramis insisted he had to try, and after finding the strength to sit correctly, one arm around his boyfriend's waist but no more kissing or making out going on, Porthos manages to breathe and half focus on the others.

 

Aramis is giggling at something random. It's such a spectacular sound that Porthos definitely approves of how Athos himself can't help grinning in return. Aramis nuzzles his boyfriend's shoulder after the kiss on his temple. He needs to touch Porthos, the only one available to his care for the time being. So his fingers are smooth on his boyfriend's knee, staying at quite a reasonable distance from his crotch this time. Not far enough away for Porthos not to feel the skin tingle under Aramis' absent-minded attentions. Having a normal discussion seems hopeless.

 

Porthos shifts again, can totally see how he could grow so embarassed he'd have to excuse himself. Two years and Aramis is still a powerful attraction. This, added to the novelty of Anne, of thinking about her and their future, how intimate and close they could -will- become, it's slowly leading to his mind surrendering to primal needs. Porthos isn't complaining. He wants those. So does Aramis, he is certain. He'd nevertheless would like to function like a civilized human being. Aramis and Anne are somehow making this impossible.

 

“Didn't Alice say she would come?” Flea repeats, poking Porthos in the ribs so he'll notice he's being talked to.

 

“I don't know. Did she?”

 

Flea rolls her eyes, sinks back against Charon because their friend is no help at all tonight.

 

“No, she can't,” Ninon replies, coming to the rescue.

 

For all the grace that she encompasses, she's taken her heels off while they're sitting. Not that she has any intention of dancing. Athos would rather break both legs than get out there among the other dancers. They're here tonight because his loft is so empty that they couldn't welcome their friends in it.

 

Flea pouts.

 

“She's free tomorrow night, though,” Ninon adds. “So we thought we might do something at Athos', then. Would you be available?”

 

“We haven't see you all in forever! Sure we are! Aren't we?” she asks Charon as an afterthought.

 

He nods and she doesn't see how he shakes his head at her antics when she's turned back to Ninon. Athos frowns at having to be so social so often over the weekend. It's quite normal if his friends have missed him. He did, too. Three months is a long time.

 

“We can buy these pizzas from the place that Porthos loves,” he suggests.

 

“And get that Australian beer only you drink.” Athos scowls at Charon above the rim of his glass yet it sounds appealing.

 

“I'll bring the cherry liquor for us girls,” Flea decides. Aramis perks up at this.

 

“The one you mix with vodka?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Yum. I like that.”

 

“Bring extra vodka then.”

 

“Oh....hmmmm,” Aramis hesitates, his gaze flickering from her to Porthos and to Athos. “We can't....Tomorrow night I don't think...”

 

“Mati's coming back tomorrow.”

 

“So?”

 

“He's staying with us,” Porthos specifies.

 

“So?” Flea says again. “Can't his mother watch him for the night? Athos hasn't been around since February. Neither has Ninon. Surely, spending time with them is more....”

 

“My son is equally important as you guys,” Aramis cuts her off curtly. He's not liking where she's going.

 

There's an awkward short silence among them, despite the music. Aramis has straightened up in the booth, his hand clutching Porthos' knee.

 

“I didn't mean....”

 

“I like you all and yes. I'm happy Athos is back but I'm spending tomorrow night with Aramis and Mati and Anne. That's all. It's been planned like this for a long time already.”

 

Porthos cuts in again, eager to dissolve the tension waiting to settle in. His intervention isn't really helpful. Flea's glass clings once she sharply puts it down on the glass table.

 

“Oh. I see.”

 

“What do you see?”

 

“Nothing. That you seem to like her more than you like your friends lately.”

 

“What?” Where is this coming from? Porthos wonders.

 

Flea shrugs off Charon's hand on her shoulder while she keeps glaring at Porthos, narrowing her eyes under the purple and blue spotlights. Is she jealous of Anne? For what reason?

 

“I'll see whoever I damn please, Flea. And if I want to spend an evening with my family, then I fucking will.”

 

“Oh, nice. Classy, Porthos. So we're what? Now you have them and we're good for nothing?”

 

“Excuse me!” Aramis almost jumps off the sofa. She's insulting him and he's only a few feet away. He can feel Porthos' fist close around a handful of his shirt to make him sit back down.

 

“Honey....,” Charon tries to help. “I think that's neither the time nor the place for that....”

 

“I'm with you right now, Flea,” Porthos interrupts all the others. He's almost snarling at her, her face not so far away. “I'm having fun. Or I was, before you went ballistic.” He can see her fume by his side but she keeps silent. Her jaw grinds behind her cheeks. This, he can make out in the semi-darkness. “I'm having fun with my friends and come on. You've always been one. But tomorrow I'm with Anne and Aramis and their son and that's it. And if you have a problem with that, I suggest we talk about it another day because tonight is about spending time with Athos and Ninon, as you so aptly said. Not about whatever grudge you might hold.”

 

Then Porthos swallows his entire drink and Aramis can feel him shake next to him. Aramis is astonished by the cold discussion, surprised that Porthos would manage to remain so calm while his decisions are being questioned by someone as close to him as Flea. He doesn't want the evening to be ruined. It's been so perfect so far.

 

For a few seconds, it seems that Flea will not have it so easily but then her eyes flicker to the others and she stands up, proclaiming that she's thirsty even if her glass is half full. And she strides towards the upstairs bar. Ninon hastily follows, barefoot.

 

Porthos sags against the booth, downs the drink Aramis sacrifices for the sake of his boyfriend's sanity. He groans.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“She's been a bit touchy lately. Nothing personal, I'm sure.”

 

Porthos has to snort at Charon's explanation.

 

“That sounded quite so.”

 

“I'm sorry, Porthos. She didn't mean it. She loves Mati.”

 

“And it's all right if you can't make it,” Athos assures him. “More beer for us.”

 

“And more pizza.”

 

“Definitely more pizza.”

 

Porthos snorts with laughter at their combined effort to make him feel better, along with Aramis' hand rubbing his chest. Flea's resentment has come out of nowhere, though, and it's disturbing. He can't understand why she would react this way since he's always been very careful to not forget his friends while being more at ease with his family.

 

“Who says we won't have pizzas, too, uh?”

 

Aramis nods. Now, they absolutely will. From that very same place his boyfriend does love a lot.

 

Not one minute passes without one of the men glancing at the bar during the forced conversation they're trying to have in the aftermath of the fight. Flea hasn't only made Porthos uneasy. Aramis is annoyed, too. Nobody can say that his son isn't as important to him or to Porthos as the others around the table are. Nobody can insult Anne or him almost to his face. Regardless of how long they've known Porthos.

 

Flea doesn't come back for a long time, which is probably for the best or else Aramis wouldn't have resisted giving her a piece of his mind as well. And even when Ninon comes back, she's by herself. Without her high heels, her gown collects dust from the thankfully not-sticky floor.

 

“Flea would like to talk to you, Porthos.”

 

Her pointed look tells him this isn't a request he can deny. He's angry, though, so he isn't sure it'd be productive. Yet, he does as he's asked, Aramis sinking against the sofa without his boyfriend to hold him close.

 

With his sleeves rolled up and the top buttons of his shirt undone, Porthos spots Flea fidgeting at the bar. There isn't much people upstairs. She's whirling on her stool, chewing her lip but she stops mid-spin at her friend with his arms crossed and his mighty stance so close to her. She has to look up to look him in the eye.

 

“Ninon said you wanted to see me.”

 

“Yeah. I've been an idiot.”

 

He won't contradict her, waiting for her to actually apologize but nothing else comes.

 

“What was that about? You know you aren't the only people in my life anymore. And you were the one always saying how happy you were for me. And I'm not ignoring you, am I?”

 

“No, you're not. And I am. Happy for you. It's just....It has nothing to do with you.You know I like Mati and you do, too, so you must have missed him but....we used to be your family and...”

 

“You still are. You're my fun family. My first family. You and Charon and Athos and even Alice. Although Athos doesn't quite fit the “fun” part of the description.”

 

Flea chuckles a little at his remark. Her voice is less sharp than during their argument, clearly shaken, and she looks a bit unsure, which could always soften Porthos. He does a little, his shoulders relaxing.

 

“Do you really think that because I won't spend two nights in a row with you guys means I value them more than I do you?”

 

“Don't you?”

 

“Mati is six. You can't possibly be jealous of him. And Anne...” This get trickier. Porthos breathes out, has to keep it as neutral as he can for now. “She's my family, too. Because she's Aramis' best friend and they have always raised their son together and she's actually really fun, too. Funny.”

 

Flea cocks her head. From the few times she's met Anne, these aren't the adjectives she'd use to describe her.

 

“Anne? Fun? She works in a _museum_.”

 

“So? If you took the time to get to know her, I'm sure you'd learn to appreciate her. Ninon just did.”

 

Flea shakes her head, not so convinced by that either. They're worlds apart. It's a wonder for her that Porthos can get along with Anne so well as it is.

 

“The point is,” he carries on, “Anne is a part of my life now. Like Aramis, and she's as important as you are. You can't resent me because I spend time with other people.”

 

“With your family, you mean. The real one. With a child and all.”

 

“It's not a competition, Flea. You don't all mean the same to me but you all mean something. You're my best girl, aren't you?”

 

He gives her a lopsided grin because even now that she's calmed down from her outburst, she still doesn't look like the Flea that he likes to spend time with.

 

“Yeah. I'm an idiot,” she says again, fiddling with an abandoned coaster. “Of course you've missed Mati. Who wouldn't? That kid is adorable. Perhaps you could bring him along?”

 

“If we do, then it won't be only about him. He's spent a week without any of us. I'm spending the evening with him and Aramis and Anne. The four of us. That's not negotiable. I still love you.”

 

“I know. Everything....changes and sometimes...I guess it's stupid but....you talk about them and... you do sound like an actual parent and it's like you wouldn't....need us....”

 

“That _is_ stupid. Get it out of your head right now. I'm waiting.”

 

She chuckles, breathes out a shudder and hops down from her stool to step into the tentative hug Porthos wants to give her.

 

“I won't let you go, Flea. Why would I? Who would send me crazy pictures at 3 am if I did?”

 

“I haven't done this in weeks.”

 

“And I've missed it.”

 

“I'm not really fun either lately. Which is no reason to be a bitch, but still.”

 

It's a whispered confession, similar to what Charon said earlier, maybe the beginning of an explanation as to how and why she reacted so fiercefully. Porthos tightens his arms around her.

 

“What's the matter? It's not because of tomorrow, right? Not only because of that.”

 

Flea is stronger than that. Stronger than one of her closest friends ditching their group to hang out with other people. A child at that. How ridiculous is it to resent him because he wants to spend time with the little boy? Flea is stronger than that. Stronger than her friend spending time with a woman she can't quite stand, with whom she has nothing in common. She's stronger than that. She's always fought her way into the world without caring about what others thought of her or her opinions.

 

“What is it then?” Porthos presses when no reply comes. This time, the hair on top of Flea's head shakes furiously at how she moves against his chest.

 

“It'd truly ruin the night and that'd be an even bitchier move. I'll be fine.”

 

“Do you wanna get wasted then? And forget about your problems?”

 

There's no point pushing the issue further. At least they're not fighting anymore and Porthos is aware that she isn't really angry with him. It's deeper than that and she'll talk whenever she'll want to. He squeezes her with strong arms until she has to complain so he lets her go.

 

“We're not twenty anymore.”

 

“So? It's always worked for me.”

 

“I'd need a week to recover.”

 

Porthos laughs out loud and she punches his arm. There's still a worrying shadow in her eyes but at least her action shows him that she'll be all right for the night.

 

“These will be enough,” she adds at the large platter the bartender finally sets in front of her.

 

“What are they?”

 

“The cherry vodka shots. Since Aramis said he liked it and you won't be with us tomorrow. It was supposed to be a peace offering.”

 

“That's my Flea!”

 

Porthos beams under the lights, hugging her one more time, smothering her to drain her of all the tension for a few hours. Soft laughter comes from her, with a smile which seems a bit forced but there's no hint that she'll blow a fuse for no reason known to him for the rest of the evening. If anything, she's a bit embarassed that she's acted like a child, throwing a tantrum while she was the one insisting that they should have fun because they're reunited with their friends.

 

Almost everyone dismisses her apologies when her and Porthos come back to their table. Charon does kiss her for a long time and that's enough to make her relax against him. It works better than all the alcohol Porthos was suggesting before. It's more effective perhaps since it won't leave her with a tremendously inconvenient headache. She isn't even in the mood for the shots she's bought them.

 

Since there seemed to have been some, if not understanding at least a truce between his boyfriend and Flea, and that she is quite adamant yet fumbling in her apologies to him, Aramis decides there's no point arguing about it further. It's unlike the Flea he's always known to be so hesitating in her words as it is. He doesn't need Porthos' hasty explanation to understand that her reaction was not solely aimed at them in particular. So he accepts not one or two, but three shots handed to him.

 

The alcohol goes straight to his head. A comfortable and tasty buzzing. Sweet and warm. It turns the discussion happening around him into a delicious haze. Porthos' laughter is more natural now, a beacon in his happiness. So is his hand on Aramis' shoulder. How it travels down his arm, plays with his cuff to undo it and find some actual skin to rub. How Aramis sinks so low under the safety of his arm, face buried against his boyfriend's chest that it could practically make him oblivious to the music and the voices. Aramis is being ignored, left in his tranquil gleeful bubble, fingers splayed on Porthos' leg, playing. Gliding up and down until Porthos squirms at the tickling feeling.

 

So Aramis shifts closer, one arm drapped across Porthos' stomach, bunching up his shirt. One leg basically hooked with his boyfriend's. Thank God for the flashing lights which make it impossible to focus on anything for more than a couple of seconds. No one can't really see what they're doing. Everything makes the argument fade away until it's replaced with nothing but pure entertainent and bliss and Aramis' perfect boyfriend. Porthos being incredibly hot when he defended them, when he stood up for himself and for Anne.

 

Aramis doesn't realize he stops the other mid-sentence when he pulls himself up to kiss Porthos full on the mouth. Tongue sweeping in, licking, and sloppy words that his boyfriend guesses must mean that Aramis loves him. There's that tipsy spark in Aramis' eyes, the one which gives him a more gorgeous edge. The one which would make Aramis think even less about other people's opinions than he usually does. He doesn't care about anything but being so close to Porthos that no one could ever come between them. Neither with actions nor words.

 

Flea would make a smartass and possibly cheeky remark at the kissing. But tonight she won't. Instead, she laughs at Aramis' unfazed face and Porthos' awestruck gaze even while he dives back for more kisses, flattening Aramis against the back of the couch until he's giggling too much and Porthos has to stop.

 

“I was talking, cupcake.”

 

Aramis huffs, runs a hand in his hair yet doesn't try to straighten his clothes. His shirt is halfway untugged from his pants. He doesn't look apologetic as he takes in Athos and Ninon having their own discussion by the side, and Charon waiting to resume whatever he was chatting about with Porthos. As far as Aramis is concerned, there's been enough talking for the night, he decides. His feelings have swelled to the point that he needs to act on them or he fears he might explode from their magnificence.

 

“We should dance instead! Isn't that the point?”

 

He springs to his feet, woobles a little. He's hungry.

 

Porthos feels him tug on his hand, but not strongly enough to propel him upward.

 

“I could dance,” Flea hazards, sheepish eyes imploring for more forgivenness. She's been so stupid. Such an idiot. They didn't deserve her anger.

 

In less than a second, Aramis has let go of his boyfriend to grab her hand and lead her downstairs. It's crowded and when Flea starts trying to apologize once more, Aramis dismisses it. He makes her twirl and decides that she's his friend, too. That it's Friday night, it's the end of the week, it's late. She may have had rough days like everybody else. Everyone's allowed to lose their temper once in a while. It won't get in the way of having fun. The vodka is helping.

 

Regardless of how many people are on the dancefloor, Porthos would always be able to spot Aramis among them. His white shirt kind of glows in the lights but he seems to shine from his energy and enthusiasm. Again. He's a precious sight to witness. Porthos leans at the balcony, watching Charon cut in the dance, Flea's arms around his neck. Not before she's kissed Aramis on the cheek, though. An unexpected gesture which stops his boyfriend altogether. Motionless in spite of the beat, a silly and reconciling smile on his lips. It's compelling.

 

Aramis startles at the hands on his hips, whirling to find Porthos right there against him. Lips land on his at the same time as Aramis locks his arms around the other's neck, presses himself flush and finally resumes dancing. Hands grop at his waist, low on his ass and Aramis moans in the kiss. But Porthos doesn't stop.

 

“Feeling better?” Aramis shouts in his ear, teeth grazing the skin. Porthos nods, fingers splayed on Aramis' ass, smooth and eager, pulling him in closer.

 

“Tell me about Anne.”

 

“Now? What happened to it being too much?”

 

Even as he says so, he can feel Porthos move faster, grind harder, touch parts of his body which have been ignored for too long.

 

“Tell me.”

 

“How impatient,” Aramis teases, tongue licking his boyfriend's ear, the skin just under it. That sensitive spot which makes Porthos go weak on the knees.

 

Porthos rolls his hips, feels Aramis respond to it, fingers clutching some of his hair. He will beg if he has to. It's too much imagining the others kissing, especially while he's also thinking that Anne could be with them, flushed while they dance. That she could touch him like Aramis does. That he could touch her like he does with Aramis. Porthos keens at the hand flat on his chest. The one which doesn't stop moving until it's teasing Porthos' belt, the nails gliding on the pants. And then Porthos snaps at bit, turns Aramis around so his naughty fingers can be kept in check.

 

So that Aramis' ass rubs against his crotch with the new, faster rhythm. So that Porthos is now the one torturing his boyfriend with light but determined touches on his lower stomach. Aramis pulls Porthos' head down to kiss him greedily.

 

He's very aware of the growing hardness against his ass, as oblivious to the crowd as he is. Porthos is wrapping himself all over him. So much lust and desire that Aramis chokes on the kiss, forgets whatever he wanted to say to tease his boyfriend more. Perhaps it's not necessary. Perhaps it'd be too much if he added to all the images their minds are conjuring about Anne.

 

Porthos' tongue is nonetheless pushing deeper, his hand making Aramis move harder, in spite of the shallow breathing and the mouth soon sucking on his neck. Aramis gasps, grips Porthos' hair.

 

“She _was_ wearing underwear,” is the first thing that comes to the fore. A random answer to something Porthos had been wondering about since the museum.

 

Porthos fists Aramis' shirt, bites in his neck and bucks his hips so violently that Aramis groans. He forces his way to face his boyfriend once again. His heart rate is skyrocketing, drumming in his chest. Aramis could see himself jump in Porthos' arms, stumbling on the floor and having him right there in front of everyone else. Whether it's in reaction to Anne's undergarments, or to him imagining what Aramis did to possibly know about them, but Porthos is so hard, so ready to burst out of his skin and his clothes.

 

He rubs against Aramis after he's trapped him against a wall. It's erratic and messy yet Aramis ruts back, grunts and makes all the pretty noises that Porthos feeds on. Aramis' fingers dip below his belt, in his pants, sending electroshocks once they caress the bare skin of Porthos' lower back. They would creep lower still if they could.

 

Porthos has to bite and pull on his boyfriend's collar to keep from shouting out loud. Not that anyone would care. People brush past them, never sparing them a glance. It does things to Aramis. So do the husky breath and voice at his ear.

 

“Home. Now.”

 

There's nothing that Aramis wants more either so he can't quite remember saying goodbye to the others, retrieving clothes from upstairs or making his way home. There's lipstick on his cheeks from Ninon, though, he finds out when they're on the subway and he can see his reflection in the window. But this feels more like a passing thought than an actual memory. All the hints of what's to come that he drops in Porthos' ear, in his mouth, _this_ he remembers clearly.

 

And he got his jacket back since Porthos practically manhandles him out of it, pushing him against the front door in their appartment. They can't even bother to turn the lights on.

 

Neither of them talk, too busy sharing messy kisses, kicking shoes. Hands fumbling with belts and shirts, fingers grabbing Porthos' hair, pulling him closer. Aramis hooks one leg around his boyfriend's waist and moans at the hot crotch crushing his. How Porthos makes short movements, too tiny and quick but so regular that Aramis has to throw his head back, face slack and eyes closed.

 

Porthos' tongue flicks around his, licks Aramis' lips, travels down his neck to suck on his pulse point. Wet teeth on his bare skin and Aramis fails to unbutton the other's shirt. His legs buckle until he feels Porthos' hands flat on the curve of his ass and he gets helps hopping and wrapping his legs around his boyfriend's waist. There's a great noise in the heavy atmosphere when Aramis' back hits the door. Porthos bites on his neck and Aramis gasps, shudders, feels whatever blood wasn't already there rushing to his cock which strains in his pants. Which rubs against Porthos' in spite of the layers in between.

 

“Good?” Porthos rasps. Aramis can't answer. “Again?”

 

Not waiting for any prompting, Porthos bites down again, harder, and Aramis swears, holds his boyfriend's head on his shoulder so he can do it once more. Which Porthos does. There's enough light coming in from the street for him to make out Aramis' ecstatic face and how much he enjoys it. Porthos lashes out, fumbles until somehow, he's managed to sit Aramis on the table, legs unwrapping so he can step in between.

 

Aramis palms the other's erection as soon as he can, groping at the belt and the fly and relishing in how excited Porthos is. How hot his crotch is, almost as much as the kisses they are trading.

 

Porthos' hands are on fire, sweaty on his boyfriend's chest, trembling with impatience and perhaps exasperation as he tries to undo enough buttons to strip Aramis. But it's no use. He can't focus, tugging at them. He would probably rip the shirt open if it was quicker.

 

“Don't be such a brute!”

 

It's only a ragged breath which doesn't deter Porthos. The hand in his pants isn't helping. Neither is Aramis moving -squirming- at how he's touching the long and hard length of his boyfriend's cock. Hand flat on it through the fabric of Porthos' underwear, nails grazing. Porthos bucks his hips, attempts to do the same to Aramis, dropping his forehead on his shoulder, one hand on the top of his open pants and the other still hopelessly working on Aramis' shirt.

 

“Porthos, stop!”

 

The ripping sound is unmistakable, Aramis struggling for air amid all of his desire. Porthos goes still, one of his fingers brushing his boyfriend's naked chest through the hole he just tore in the clothing. It's not the only reason why he's stopped moving, though. Aramis feels Porthos' cock twitch against him.

 

“Say that again.”

 

“What? Stop?”

 

“Don't say it like that.”

 

For a handful of seconds, Aramis is confused. But Porthos sounds close to whining. To pouting. And then, it clicks. That's going to be fun.

 

“Porthos, stop!”

 

The stern tone, how Aramis seems to be scolding him for the mistake he's made, it makes Porthos grunt, so low in his throat.

 

“Am I in charge, then?” Aramis has to asks casually. Porthos' eyes burn in the darkness. Aramis sees the slight nod and retrieves his hand from his boyfriend's pants. Porthos whimpers, even more so after Aramis has swatted away the hand trying to destroy his clothes so he can unbutton it by himself.

 

He goes so slow, though, eyes never leaving Porthos's face, biting his lip.

 

“I'm feeling kind of neglected and that's not good either. You don't want to make me angrier, do you?”

 

It's Porthos' invitation to come back for more kisses, tongue swallowing Aramis', beard scratching his cheek, his jawline, his bare shoulders when finally, the shirt is discarded. Tongue flicking Aramis' nipples as he all but lies down on the table. Teeth on his chest, swollen lips touching every inch of it, underwear gliding on Aramis' pants now that Porthos' trousers have pooled at his feet and he's stepped out of them.

 

Aramis' toes are hooking up with the boxers, pushing them down, pushing Porthos down harder against him. Getting friction and more sparkling pain from Porthos knowing how to turn on and please his boyfriend. Aramis is panting, moaning loudly at the fingersnails scraping his arms, his stomach. Playing with sore nipples. He cradles Porthos' face, tugs on the curls to pull him higher and get more kisses. It's growing so suffocating in whatever clothes he's still wearing.

 

“Bed. Now.”

 

Aramis' order comes out hoarse. It's one that is obeyed at once, Porthos pulling him back to his feet, helping the other out of his pants. Out of his underwear. Aramis' cock is so inviting, so gloriously hard that it can't be helped. Porthos grabs it, one hand stroking it, the other firm on his boyfriend's hip so he won't collapse. Porthos' thumb is doing magical things.

 

“I said: bed. Now.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

It's anything but a joke. Porthos' cock pulses at the voice, the orders, at how authoritarian Aramis sounds. How desperate Porthos is to obey, to surrender himself for these long minutes of pure pleasure so he can forget everything that isn't his boyfriend and the spectacular images he's put in his mind.

 

Aramis stumbles on his lap as soon as Porthos is sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress sinks under their weight. Porthos' hands safe on the other's waist, going along with the grinding, the hot flesh against his crotch. Aramis' wild noises and his mouth unbuttoning Porthos' shirt.

 

Porthos bucks his hips at how delirious it is. He bucks his hips at the lips mouthing at his chest. He bucks his hips at how Aramis moves, cocks rubbing. How he directs Porthos' hands to his ass, to knead and grip.

 

“Do you think your fingers could do more?”

 

And then Aramis curses around his teasing at the finger circling his hole. Small touches never pressing inside. He spreads his legs further, chest flat against Porthos'. He drawls a long rasp at the knuckle rubbing in, at the pads of his boyfriend's fingers caressing his balls. His cock leaks a little and Aramis has to kiss Porthos.

 

Out of breath when he pulls back, hungry for more skin to ravish, Aramis nibbles at Porthos' lips, demands that he stops touching him. It hurts to do it, and if Porthos is confused, he doesn't show it. He simply lifts his hips at the command and then feels his heart stutter while Aramis take his boxers off for him, shuffling down so he's kneeling on the floor. Porthos doesn't need instructions to know he has to sit back up.

 

His cock looks so big in the dim light from the bedside lamp. Gorgeous and tasty, full of life and anticipation. Aramis licks his lips before licking the entire length with the tip of his tongue. Eyes always up at Porthos. Hands strong on the other's thighs, trying to lessen the shaking. Aramis licks the cock, again and again. Such a tease, only that tiny touch of his tongue, going higher and higher with each pass, the blood pulsating in Porthos' cock. He can't help moving forward on the edge of the bed when Aramis flattens his tongue on the cockhead, flicks it. Ridiculously small laps which are driving Porthos crazy. He braces himself on the bed, fisting the comforter.

 

Scrambling for more leverage after Aramis has redirected his ministrations to the base of his cock, to sucking at his balls. His mouth closes on each of them then goes up to swallow as much of Porthos' cock as he can. Porthos shouts out. Aramis grins around him, jerks himself off at the same time because it's the only option. Porthos' entire body is heaving above him, coming undone. Aramis pulls on his own cock, uses his left hand to stroke Porthos' and dedicates his mouth to these delicious balls, a salty taste clinging to his teeth, to his tongue.

 

When Porthos thinks that truly he won't be able to take much more, that Aramis is being too efficient an that his slick cock in his warm hand is too much, Aramis crawls back up to his boyfriend's lap, naked cock against sensitive cock. Porthos has to gather him in his arms. Aramis buries closer, gasps around his words. Shiny mouth and shiny beard.

 

“I'm going to....fuck you in....every way I can and...I'm going to fuck you so much that it'll hurt because it'll be....too good. Any objections?”

 

“Are you kidding me?”

 

“Answer the question.”

 

“Nope. None.”

 

“Good.”

 

Lips and teeth clash, fingernails rake Aramis' back. Porthos cocks bulges so much against his stomach that it's already painful.

 

“Turn around.”

 

The duvet is soft under Porthos' cheek, cock moving against it because it's impossible to obey orders and not react to them as completely as he does. He shivers at the light kiss on his shoulder. Caring and loving. Just like the fingers travelling down his spine. Feather touches on his blazing skin.

 

Fingers on his ass, on the curve of it. Fingers soon replaced by a greedy and thorough mouth. Aramus buries himself behind Porthos, tongue teasing his hole, cherishing the quiet whimpers and groans. How Porthos has to grope for his own cock to stroke while Aramis sucks on his ass. Tongue flat on his hole, circling, lapping, humming. Helped by one hot finger probing. Porthos howls into the pillow, bites down on it when Aramis pushes in his ass. How the finger carefully eases its way in, soon taken over by the wetness of his tongue. It's impossible to think that it could hurt, that Aramis could be less than intensive in relaxing his boyfriend.

 

Porthos is tasty everywhere and Aramis would take his sweet time if he had the luxury to do so. He would drive Porthos to his orgasm only like this. He knows he could. His boyfriend is jerking off so fast already. He presses down on the bed for more friction. But it's driving _Aramis_ insane, even though he loves the tightness around his fingers, how they rub inside Porthos' ass, how his tongue keeps on licking, moving to his boyfriend's balls once in a while now that Porthos has pushed his ass higher in the air.

 

There's another light kiss on the nape of his neck, Aramis' chest pressing down totally on his back and then his ass feels awfully empty with no fingers in it. For a few excruciating seconds, Aramis strains to reach the bedside table but it drives Porthos' cock harder into his fist, onto the bed so he'll take it. He'll also take the overwhelming sweet smell which invades the bedroom after Aramis has opened the lube. It's cherry because his boyfriend can't keep it simple and Porthos almost chokes on his laughter. Too much cherry tonight.

 

Then he's not laughing anymore but moaning at the cockhead pushing against his ass but never quite starting to fuck him. How ever desperate Porthos is for that now.

 

“I don't think you deserve it if you think that's funny.”

 

Porthos doesn't need to know the torture Aramis is putting himself in for the sake of teasing. He keeps on playing with his boyfriend's ass until Porthos turns his head, still cushioned on the pillow, to find his lusty eyes. Porthos is ready to beg. He wants it that much.

 

Except he doesn't have to. Still locking eyes, Aramis pushes inside, so slow that Porthos' eyes do roll and he cries out. He's trembling but so is Aramis, shaking and motionless once his cock is buried in Porthos. He smoothes his hand on the other's back, waits for the muscles to relax to move. It's agony but Porthos isn't saying anything. He can't. He feels like all of his pleasure will escape if he does. He wants to keep it all. Aramis is so good. So large and long and he fills him so completely.

 

It's a marvelous sort of pain which spreads in Porthos' body once he does start moving. It's sharp and powerful, subsiding with each thrust. Tiny ones because Aramis' cock almost never leaves Porthos' ass at all. He's lying on top of his boyfriend, holding him down, lips on his neck. One hand gliding up and down Porthos' left side, the other firm on Porthos' fist. The one he's using to clutch the headboard.

 

Aramis won't budge, fucking him deeper, harder. Moaning hot breaths on Porthos' skin. Filthy rasps about how tight and hard Porthos is. How ravishing. Fantasies about he liked to feel Porthos' cock inside of him. How Porthos would thrust without ever stopping, how he wouldn't hold anything back. How he would fuck Aramis without quite preparing him and how they would both _love_ it.

 

“Aramis, fuck!”

 

“What? I thought I was.”

 

He thrusts deeper to prove it, can see sweat glisten on Porthos' back. He licks some of it, pulls his cock almost out and fucks Porthos again, draws another loud curse from his boyfriend.

 

“That better?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you think you deserve more?”

 

“Faster.”

 

“That's not an answer.”

 

“Please,” Porthos begs, gripping the fingers on his, jerking off more strongly. There's entirely not enough friction in his ass.

 

Aramis gladly complies, fucking him faster. Shallow thrusts while pushing Porthos down onto the mattress, suffocating him to the point that nothing matters but Aramis. Not even breathing. He lives for Aramis' cock and how it invades his body, how it makes his stomach coil. How Aramis' words dissolve into incoherent sounds after he's come, unable to stop fucking him.

 

He collapses on top of Porthos, feels him shudder with his blissful orgasm. Porthos' hand is so sticky, so sweaty. So dirty when he wipes it on the comforter. He feels so spent and yet so wonderful. In a delightful haze and it takes a minute for him to realize that Aramis' weight isn't resting on him anymore.

 

Instead, Aramis is waiting by the side, sprawled. A softening cock between his legs, a rising chest and open arms. Such love and happiness glowing in his eyes that Porthos can't resist them. Or him. He feels so tired and yet so rejuvenated at the same time. Aramis shuffles closer, hypnotized by the few drops of come he can see and then touch on Porthos' stomach. It makes his boyfriend sigh and shiver, Aramis' skin so soft and delicate. Exactly like the lazy smile on his face. Or the fingers slowly touching Porthos' hair, then his forehead and his closed eyes.

 

When Aramis eventually speaks, it's only a whisper.

 

“Now, you deserve snuggles, sweetie.”

 

That's an order Porthos has no problem following.

 


	11. The Couch

As he rounds the corner of their street, Porthos finds another reason to hurry on his way home. Work was awful on a Saturday morning after such a long, and yet short, night. The museum and the beauty of Anne, the nightclub and Flea's outburst that he still has to investigate. And sex with Aramis, which Porthos would never complain about. But he must have spaced out a couple of times already at the gym thinking back on it. He feels drained, though, in spite of the few hours of sleep and he's sure he's eaten his weight in carbs for lunch to gather enough energy. Porthos is glad he's free to spend the rest of the weekend with the others.

 

With Aramis waiting at home, blissfully asleep when his boyfriend left earlier. With Mati that they have to go pick up at the airport later in the afternoon. And with Anne who is walking in front of him in the street.

 

Porthos would recognize her even from behind. With her hair swinging in her ponytail, her hands in the pockets of her jacket, purse banging against her side with each step she takes. Her pace is so light that her trainers almost never touch the ground. There's a bright smile on her face once he's shouted her name and she's turned around. Stopped so he could catch up with her.

 

He seems so gigantic in his sweatshirt. His arms are like Heaven when they close around her. Small fists clutch his back and Porthos can hear her take a deep breath of contentment when she greets him. The short kiss on her cheek would make her delirious with all the affection hidden in the simple gesture. Anne might be tired, the way Porthos' eyes smile with actual joy at seeing her will never get old. It will always amaze her. She will always cherish it.

 

“I thought you were meeting Aramis for lunch,” Porthos remarks, resuming their walk to his building.

 

Anne's arm slips around his waist and she sighs with delight at the strong arm over her shoulders. No one is overthinking their actions and barely a week before they were so careful around each other. Porthos can hardly believe it could be so easy.

 

“I thought so, too. But he never replied to the text I sent him. So I assumed he was still sleeping.”

 

“That's most likely. Lucky him.”

 

Porthos hums, holds the door open for her, offers to carry her backpack and finds her face adorable when she declines it. He already has a bag of his own and she isn't incapacitated.

 

Anne does thank him for his good intentions, kissing him properly while they're waiting for the elevator. His thumbs on the sides of her face are smooth and soft. A comfort of what she's deeply missed, even for a few hours. She's staying for so long starting right now. Anne has no intention of going back home until late evening on the next day.

 

Because she's missed her son, but also because she can't get enough of Porthos. Of his warm mouth and his body so close to hers. How safe he makes her feel. The world could shatter and Anne would be fine if Porthos was by her side. Thorough and attentive. Intoxicating a little perhaps now that they're free to be as affectionate as they want together.

 

And also because things have changed with Aramis. Yet without really changing, which makes everything more beautiful. Extraordinary. Their kiss the previous night, the first in so many ways, was tremendously meaningful and exciting. It didn't seem out of place or such a big achievement. Instead, it felt natural. As natural as holding hands, ruffling hair or laughing at jokes together. Another more physical display of all the love they've nurtured for years and have finally allowed to really shine out.

 

Seeing him when Porthos and her come inside the appartment cancels out the mild disappointment that she had to have lunch by herself. Aramis is sprawled on the couch, damp curls betraying the shower he's just taken. A bowl of dry cereal sitting on his stomach. A precarious equilibrium as he blows on his steaming coffee. It's dreamy. The living room and its occupants that Anne wants to come back to every night from now on.

 

“I found an abandoned girlfriend in the street and decided to bring her along,” Porthos cheekily says, depositing bags in the entrance to crouch and give Aramis the hello kiss he was going to request.

 

His lips against Porthos', the hand not holding the mug cradling the nape of his boyfriend's neck. Tasting Anne and all the remembrance of the previous night. Aramis stretches happily, toes curling on the cushion. Heart in sync with how perfectly Porthos fits next to him. How noticing Anne peering at the edge of his vision makes him relax.

 

“Yeah, sorry. I just saw your text. I was pretty tired.”

 

Straightening up, Aramis winks at Porthos, so not subtly and his boyfriend rolls his eyes. Steals some cornflakes. “Did you have lunch, Anne?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Oh, good. But here, take my coffee. No sugar in it,” Aramis adds before she can object.

 

It's such a sweet gesture, unsolicited and free that this time, Anne cannot refuse him. Neither can she refuse Porthos who pats the couch so she can join them. He's sitting on the armrest, Aramis' cheek cushioned on his thigh. Anne has to swallow down scolding hot coffee to survive the level of cuteness on display for her. They can't possibly behave like this all the time. She won't be able to take much more. They are _perfect_. She loves them a lot.

 

Together. Separately. Anne couldn't say if it makes much of a difference.

 

The men are having a conversation they must have had dozens of times before. About Porthos' time at work and domestic details at home, and what color Porthos' shorts were today. They're mostly ignoring her while they do so, but she's happy they are. It's nice to listen from the sideline, even if Aramis' hand does come to caress her wrist as he keeps on talking. A spur of the moment which is so normal that Anne wants him to never let go.

 

When Porthos is back with two more cups, for him and for Aramis, he kisses them both. Quick on the lips. And then he just stands there. Over them. Awestruck.

 

“What is it?” Aramis has to ask under the careful scrutiny of his boyfriend. Porthos shakes his head.

 

“It's cheesy.”

 

“Haven't we established that we live for that stuff? And in case you don't,” he says to Anne, “you'll have to get used to it. We're the worst.”

 

Anne giggles, presses closer to him, folds her legs on the couch and ends up half on Aramis' lap. She certainly won't mind cheesiness. It's been a long time since she's experienced any. It's been a long time since she's experienced any of the things she gets to live out with the men. It's thrilling enough for her to ignore some of her apprehension.

 

“Go on then,” Aramis urges him.

 

But Porthos shakes his head again. Bends down and kisses them both again. Long kisses. One finger on Aramis' chin and his glistening lips chasing after that wonderful mouth which has settled on Anne's now. Aramis satisfies himself with kissing Porthos' cheek instead. From there, it's only a matter of seconds before he's the one finally kissing Anne.

 

Softly, sweetly. No big fireworks or exceptionally new feelings. A great sensation of calm and belonging between the both of them. Coffee is everywhere in her mouth but she also tastes like Porthos, which Aramis supposed he does, too. It's dizzying. More exhilirating than all the alcohol in town. Her fingers close on his bare forearm and the way she whimpers in the kiss causes Porthos to take a step back.

 

It's quieter than the kissing Porthos had imagined. It's relaxed and slow. Still as pretty as he'd hoped. It should annoy him, he knows it should. He used to be upset if people merely caught a glimpse of Aramis' body on Athos' art. To have someone so wrapped up in his boyfriend, right in front of his eyes, it should be insufferable.

 

Except that his boyfriend is kissing their girlfriend. Anne is growing into that role so much so fast that it's impossible to be mad. How could Porthos be? If anything, they're hotter in their kissing than they are in their banter or their dancing. He could spend hours watching them. Providing that he can do more than that. Lately, his brain has been clouded by developing feelings. Romantic ones. Steamy ones growing from thinking about Anne so often. By too many ideas fed by Aramis' own desires and hopes.

 

Anne is flushed yet pretty pleased by the final small kiss Aramis gives her before he draws back and sinks in the couch. In awe himself. He licks his lips unconsciously, finds Porthos staring. Chest heaving, weight shifting from one leg to the other. Aramis knows what it means, what seeing them kiss did to Porthos. Much more than he would imagined. Aramis can still feel the flawless skin of Anne's neck on his fingertips even though he isn't touching it anymore.

 

“Did you forget what you wanted to say?”

 

Aramis smirks, laughs out loud at his boyfriend's unfocused gaze and how he collapses on the couch, bumping their shoulders. A growl in Aramis' ear softened by a kiss, by a hand running through the drying curls. Porthos wishes they had the afternoon to themselves to talk. To ask Anne more about her evening at the museum. To make plans for the following week. He's always afraid they want too much too early, that they are trying to invade her personal space. Anne is afraid of the same, not wanting to encroach upon the men's alone time as a couple.

 

They are one, with or without her, she cannot forget it.

 

This is a topic easily addressed, though, since Anne is quite insistent that they deserve the time spent without her around. They have most nights, Aramis insists. _For now_. Which he doesn't say out loud. He fumbles through his reply because of the thought.

 

“Besides,” Porthos argues, “maybe it's because it's so new, but for the time being, I'm happy to have you here with us as often as you can. Or want to. It's terrific so far and I still get Aramis while we do so.”

 

Porthos squeezes a strong shoulder as he states so. Aramis nods, drinks cold coffee, munches on cereal.

 

“We'll tell you if it ever becomes a bit overwhelming and we need time to ourselves. Although I don't see this happening any time soon. I wouldn't have believed we could grow closer, you and I, Anne. Seeing that we can, I want you next to me, to us, as much as possible.”

 

“Me too,” Anne admits quietly.

 

Her eyes shine and they can literally see the weight of this particular worry slide off her shoulders. Her features soften even if she is still playing with her bracelet. A nervous gesture Porthos has been starting to recognize as such. One Aramis has always been aware of.

 

“We always need to talk,” he says, “but as long as we do, about anything that bothers any of us, we should be great. I want us to be.”

 

“Yep. So you're allowed to come over whenever you want, Anne. Please do. To relieve us of your son.”

 

“I thought he was yours, too!”

 

“Sure,” Aramis laughs, “but three of us is barely enough to contain him. And since you're his mother....double parent count.”

 

By some miracle, Aramis manages not to spill too much cereal after Anne has shoved his shoulder. He pokes her right back, and Porthos discovers that her laughter at this precise moment is so genuine and so clear that it could mend any of his troubles. It's soothing. As cute as Aramis blowing away the blond curls on his mouth when she has settled back against him. If this is their life now, Porthos can find absolutely nothing to complain about.

 

They can't be quite as physical on their way to the airport, even though considering how awkward or careful they used to be around one another during the fall or winter, Porthos can only marvel that it's changed for the better. He gets to hold Anne's hand like he would do with Aramis. He gets to touch her arm or her back without having to worry that these gestures could be misinterpreted.

 

It's about the same for Aramis, hardly thinking twice about being affectionate with Anne. Not that he really thought about it before. After all, it wasn't until Porthos mentioned it the first time he met her that his boyfriend truly acknowledged how close he was to her. It wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that Aramis realized that he loved her so profundly and completely that it was useless to try and deny it.

 

Their interactions are easy as breathing and in a mere week, their life has been remodeled to fit most of their expectations. Crazy ones which would never have crossed Aramis' mind before. Before Porthos and before Anne living close by, more available in person. Distance did make them grow stronger.

 

So what if they won't kiss in public? There is nonetheless the pleasant sight of Anne precariously sitting on Porthos' lap when the train becomes too crowded. She feels cozy there, with Aramis by her side, fingers splayed on his leg, brushing hers. She feels cherished and important, enjoying a moment of their own in spite of the strangers. Porthos' voice is a rumble in her ear while they keep on talking.

 

Aramis has started to be anxious the second the train started moving. Much earlier than Porthos deemed necessary but his boyfriend is so worried that something would happen, that they would be late and that Mati would have to wait by himself at the airport. Worried that there might be a problem with the plane, that the child might get lost. That his parents might have an accident and that his son might not even board the plane in Barcelona.

 

Anne feels compelled to kiss his cheek to comfort him. To squeeze his hand to reassure him. Porthos buys him coffee with lots of whipped cream and caramel while they wait in the airport. He grabs Aramis' waist so he will stop fidgeting by the side.

 

Porthos hears the long shuddering breath his boyfriend finally draws once they see Mati walking toward them, hand clasped firmly in a flight attendant's. And the large smile breaking on the small face after he's spotted them. A lot of energy in his short legs as he decides to try to walk faster until he's in his mother's arms and she's hugging him fiercely.

 

Despite the excitement of the past week, it's been the longest she's spent without seeing her son since he was born. He's squirming in her embrace after a while, shaking his head at the shower of kisses. Aramis' laughter washes down on them and then Mati is hugging his legs, demanding to be picked up.

 

Heavy in his father's arms. Quickly deposited back on the ground. Staying a little longer in Porthos', head buried in the crook of his neck, breathing rapidly. Small hands clutching his shoulders, relieved that there aren't more welcome home kisses. It doesn't take long before there's an onslaught of random facts about grand-parents, dogs, planes, and clouds. His parents don't even attempt to ask questions, content to hear the little voice again, to see with their own eyes that the boy is safe and sound. And that he's had the time of his life.

 

“ _And I saw the pilot! The real one! He shook my hand!”_

 

“Did he now? On the plane?”

 

“ _Yes! He gave me this!”_

 

Mati shakes his hand free from his mother's grasp now that Porthos has offered to carry the suitcase and couldn't quite carry the child as well. Mati points at the pin on his shirt. The plane shines in the light. He beams at the adults saying how handsome he looks.

 

“ _And I had cake and juice and sweets! But....I wasn't supposed to say that....,”_ the boy suddenly remembers.

 

Porthos laughs at loud, finds Aramis' hand on the small of his back. Proud of his boyfriend for not minding the foreign language the child is still clinging to even though he's being spoken to in French. Proud that Porthos would have improved so much even if they barely speak Spanish. Yet his skills are enough to understand jokes or how funny Mati is.

 

He's unable to keep still in the train, on his father's lap. So much to tell, so much to remember. So much to shrill and a captivated audience happy to sit back, nod their head and smile. There can be no trouble on their mind when they're witnessing Mati so animated, content to be back. Small fingers clutch the strong arm around the tiny waist to keep the boy from tumbling down at every stop.

 

Flea can complain all she wants, Porthos wouldn't trade this for the world. To belong to such an exceptional family. One where everybody loves him to pieces. One he isn't willing to relinquish. He's gripped Anne's waist while they have to stand so she doesn't lose her balance in the train either. She's pressed closer, a fist around a handful of his jacket and her head against his arm. Even in the midst of the crowd and the metallic rumble, it's peaceful.

 

Mati's voice keeps them going. Porthos' warmth keeps her fazed yet thankful. Aramis' kind eyes whenever he catches hers keep her relieved. Secure in the knowledge that Mati being back won't alter how things are developing between the adults.

 

“ _And grandpa said there are going to be puppies soon!”_

 

“Again?”

 

“ _Yes! And I have to come and play with them in the summer!”_

 

“Of course they said that.” Aramis rolls his eyes above blond curls, hears Anne's chuckle. “Did you have fun with your grandparents in Madrid, too?”

 

Anne's gaze is grateful this time. Regardless of the state of their relationship with Aramis, they love their grandson and the feeling is mutual. Mati takes a second to remember then nods furiously.

 

“ _We saw a show! With fairies and dragons! And fire! They sang!”_

 

“Grandpa and grandma?”

 

“ _The magical bunnies, Papá!”_

 

“You son thinks you're rather thick sometimes, 'mis,” Porthos comments hastily as they are exiting the subway station.

 

The air is chilly and Mati's cheeks grow red quickly. He fusses at the jacket being zipped then squeals as soon as Anne has told him that she's staying for dinner. That she's staying the night so they can eat breakfast and spend all of Sunday together.

 

Aramis shrugs at Porthos' remark.

 

“He's still in awe with you, even if it's not as strong as it used to be a year ago. He'll find you quite thick, too, one day soon. Just you wait.”

 

He smiles cheekily, yelps at Porthos playfully slapping his ass to hurry him up down the street towards home.

 

It's a good thing they've agreed on having pizzas delivered. Aramis has no desire to cook for everybody. Instead, he's more interested in cuddles, in watching Mati fumble with his French and in having Porthos fill the appartment with the perfect laughter and delight which warm all the others from the inside out. Anne also can't help finding joy in Mati being unable to decide which adult he wants to spend the more time with. Their shins keep on being kicked every time he moves from one lap to the other.

 

From the armchair, the fluffy cushions and Porthos to go snuggling in between Aramis and Anne on the couch, leaving crumbs in his path. To Porthos again so he can choose the music he wants to listen to. But also because Mati wants to giggle and yawn at the same time. Because he wants to know if his stepfather watched the new episode of that cartoon they like while he was out of town. When Porthos admits that he didn't, Mati's eyes grow as wide as they can, he opens his mouth yet not a word comes out.

 

When they do, it's in the form of a litany of giberrish and shock. Porthos has to wrap his arms around the child so he doesn't fall backward and onto the floor. To his left, Porthos sees Aramis' body shaking with silent laughter. He's lazily holding the hand Anne has dropped on his thigh. It must be nice, to cuddle like this on the couch.

 

It is. To watch from the side how Porthos and Mati have adopted each other. How the child begins to make plans for the following week. He's still on a school break and staying with his father means spending time with Porthos. A lot of it. At the gym mostly.

 

“We'll find some time to watch it together,” Porthos promises. “What do you say?”

 

“Yes! Tomorrow! With Mamá, too, Porfos!”

 

“Can't I watch it, too?” Aramis pouts.

 

“Yes! I have some new toys! Do you want to see them?”

 

“Sure,” Porthos replies. Then groans at the bare foot on his stomach. Only to have sticky fingers wrapping around his to be led to Mati's bedroom and the suitcase which has been abandoned for the time being.

 

Squeals and admirative praises reach Anne and Aramis who haven't been invited along and waved Porthos off when he asked if he should go by himself. They're good for now. Mati is good with his stepfather, throwing clothes on the carpet to dig and find his new treasures. He's lucky his mother can't see him.

 

 

“What are we going to tell him?” Anne inquires, loving the finger grazing her shoulder, playing with her hair. It's another issue she's been waiting to address.

 

“Tell who?”

 

“Mati.”

 

“About?”

 

“Us, Aramis. The three of us.”

 

“Why should we tell him anything?”

 

“He's bound to notice that things have changed between us.”

 

“Is he? He's so young, Anne. He's never questioned Porthos and I together and we never explained how we might be different from other parents he can see at school or in the city. We said we were in love and it was enough for him.”

 

“It was still the two of you, though. We're three and that's more peculiar.”

 

“It's different, that's for sure,” Aramis has to agree. “And believe me or not, I actually looked it up this morning. I mean, the Internet can't tell us how to feel or react but there were some stuff on how to handle kids in situations like ours.”

 

“Did you, really?”

 

Aramis nods and she has to be impressed. He's so thoughtful. Anne leans at the finger pad on her forehead, going down her cheek and resting on her lips. Soon replaced by a quiet mouth. Not moving. Only there for a few seconds before withdrawing. Anne shifts to hug him closer.

 

“I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable. Least of all Mati. But he's barely six. He's not old enough to realize we're not the norm. It might seem odd at times, especially if you're here often, and you should be, Anne. But how can he know what happens in other homes? Besides, so many parents are divorced and remarried. I bet some of the children in his school have more than three parents. Mati will be good. He loves all of us together already. He's on cloud nine that you're staying tonight.”

 

His voice is soft and comforting and it's the second time today that he's soothed some of her anguish . Anne is the one going for another kiss, whispering thank yous when their lips brush. Forgetting everything to lose herself in Aramis, in the tranquil heat of his mouth. Of his tongue. Of his hand in her hair and the other on her lower back. The same spot which surprised her in her office at the museum. Her jeans are thicker than her dress was, and even though they are she isn't as startled this time around.

 

Kissing Aramis is coming back to her, something they should have kept doing during all these years. It's magnificent. There's no anxiety whatsoever. It's as if they've been doing this for months already. Except it's only been a day.

 

Anne huddles close, flushed against him but hearing no complaint. Simply feeling the tentative hand rubbing her back through her clothes. The fact that she doesn't pull back fills Aramis with more confidence. Small steps taken in such a short time. He is very aware of how his heartbeat picks up at seeing that he isn't rejected. That Anne is actually welcoming more.

 

And then Mati comes hurtling back in the room. Proving his father right since the kissing doesn't deter him. If anything, it's getting in the way of his announcement.

 

“For you, Papá!” he shouts, thrusting an envelope at him before climbing on the couch, forcing his parents to move away from one another.

 

“Thank you, champion. Is it from grandpa and grandma?”

 

“Yes! For your bir _f_ day!”

 

“Wow.”

 

“So you can buy nice things,” Mati adds, clearly repeating words he's been told. They hear Porthos' laughter coming back to them until he's standing behind the couch. Aramis has to crane his head to take a look at his grin.

 

“And I made you two drawings! Hold on!”

 

Just as fast as he's arrived, Mati scrambles down the couch, trips on his own foot on the way to his bedroom but recovers fast. He's not only carrying papers when he's back in front of Aramis and he doesn't even wait for his father to praise how remarkable and colourful the presents are before he has moved on to displaying the new boardgame he's been given by Anne's parents. The one they should play right now. Regardless of the hour, of the dinner still scattered on the table and the multiple yawns punctuating the boy's sentences in spite of his eagerness to stay awake as long as he can.

 

“How about we play in the morning instead, sweetheart?”

 

“But Mamá, I like the game....”

 

“I'm sure you do. But it's almost time for bed and....”

 

“I don't have school in the morning!”

 

“I know,” Anne says patiently, disregarding the sharp interruption and picking up her son so he's snuggled against her chest. Porthos has sat down next to Aramis, getting some cuddles of their own. “But we still have to go to bed early.”

 

“I didn't with grandpa and grandma!”

 

“Mati, Mamá says we're not playing tonight so that's it. There's no point arguing about it.”

 

“But Papá....”

 

“Mati. No games. That's all.”

 

The boy sulks loudly, turning his back on Aramis to bury himself closer to Anne, even though she is also standing against him. For a split second, he thinks about asking Porthos for help. He's too busy crossing his arms and pouting for that.

 

“We can watch some of that cartoon if you stop being in a bad mood,” Anne suggests quietly, one hand soothing the blond curls. Mati is so tired already that he probably won't see half of it anyway. There's no response except for the nod on her chest and then Mati rubs at his eyes. “Good. Mamá loves you.”

 

Aramis says the same, tired as well, glad to fall back into being a parent. Even more grateful that Anne is with them and that Mati didn't push the shouting and whining further. Aramis wraps one arm around Anne's shoulders, pulls her and the child to him while Porthos turns on the laptop and sets up the movie.

 

By the time they are watching it, Mati has mumbled once or twice about his game, quickly diverted to remembering that he gave his father fantastic drawings that he'll have to describe at one point. Which he does, quite reluctantly at first. Growing more concerned with it as he points at objects and people and the few words he wrote by himself. He's forgotten both the game and the cartoon that they'll most certainly have to watch again when he eventually falls asleep.

 

Aramis is yawning, too, sagging on the couch, letting Anne and his boyfriend put the boy to bed. He should clean some of the mess yet he settles for going through his parents' gift and the few banknotes in the envelope. The card and Mati's awkward signature on it as well. He loves his son even when he argues with them. So does Porthos, he assures Aramis after sitting heavily next to him again.

 

“I may even have missed it,” he confesses. “Life's never a routine with you all around.”

 

Aramis snorts, finds his way under the other's arm and throws one leg over his lap.

 

“Can I go have a shower?” Anne whispers. None of the men look behind their shoulders at the question. She's almost at home already.

 

“Sure you can,” Aramis says. “We'll make you a comfortable bed for the night while you do.”

 

Not too soon, though, as the men don't move for some time after the door has closed on her and they hear water running. Aramis is rubbing Porthos' chest, closing his eyes at the lips on his hair. Whining when he's urged to stand up to actually do what he's promised.

 

“Your son gets it from somewhere, you know.”

 

“What?”

 

“The pouting.”

 

Porthos tries not to laugh too loud at Aramis doing exactly this again. He's no help at all, watching the proceedings and clutching cushions to keep them out of the way. Sitting bck on the couch when it does look like a bed.

 

“I'm just wondering....well, what I was telling you last night. Does she really want to sleep in the living room or....”

 

“We're not going to straight up ask her if she wants to sleep with us, 'mis. One way or another.”

 

It's an interesting thought, one that Porthos is entertaining as well. One he hopes will come to life soon. But he doesn't want to seem pushy. Watching the others kiss does things to him. Listening to Aramis' fantasies and desires makes him hot all over but it's not a reason to act on it all at once. That's up to her.

 

“Besides,” Porthos goes on, “I don't think I'd have it in me.”

 

He stretches his arms above his head, groans at the aching muscles and shifts on his legs. Aramis smirks, reclines on the fold-out couch.

 

“Still sore?”

 

“Don't flatter yourself.”

 

To wipe out the smug look on his boyfriend's face, Porthos kneels at the edge of the couch until he's lying on the other and arms cling to his neck. Aramis breathes in loudly, drops a kiss onto Porthos' neck, drags one foot up and down his leg.

 

“I really liked last night, you know,” Porthos mentions. It's a mumble against Aramis' tee-shirt.

 

“I did, too. It was a nice twist.”

 

“I needed that.”

 

“And I'm always happy to oblige.”

 

Porthos smiles, raises his head to kiss him and to find that tongue which drove him a little crazy during sex. The fingers creeping under his clothes are nothing but gentle. Not seeking more than conveying love. Porthos is good holding Aramis close, hissing at the ticklish feeling or how his boyfriend catches his breath at the smooth hand going up and down his side. Not even touching bare skin.

 

“What are we going to ask her, then?” Aramis presses.

 

“Do we have to ask anything?”

 

“I won't be able to sleep otherwise.”

 

“Believe me, it's such a mess in my head because of it, too, but...it might embarrass her.”

 

“She's here so often now, sweetie. It might make her uncomfortable if we don't ask soon anyway. And we'll have to talk about it at some point.”

 

“Yeah, you're right. Or I could lull you to sleep the same way I did last week.”

 

As Porthos says so, his fingers travel lower to stop on Aramis' belt. There's no mistaking his intentions. The way he wiggles his eyebrows makes Aramis laugh out loud to the point that he gasps around it. It's an interesting idea.

 

“What are you two mumbling about?”

 

They've failed to hear the shower stop or the door open. Porthos almost pushes himself completely off Aramis before his boyfriend's answer shocks him. So much for not embarassing Anne.

 

“Sex.”

 

“Aramis!”

 

“What, Porthos? That's the truth.”

 

“Yeah, but you could at least say it with style.”

 

Then Porthos wants to apologize to Anne who is still their guest. Her sleeping apparel leaves him a bit awestruck, though. He's staring again. He's seen her wearing shorts before but that was last summer and she didn't mean much to him then. And they certainly weren't so thin and satiny. Even the matching tee-shirt does things to his stomach. And it's only that: a tee-shirt. His previous decision not to ask her where she'd like to sleep isn't as obvious now. On the other hand, if Aramis' honest answer shocked her, too, she's doing a good job hiding it.

 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Aramis replies mockingly. “Let me rephrase it. Last night we went to bed and consumated our love and we were just now recounting what it made us feel. Better?”

 

“Geez.”

 

Porthos flops back on the couch, hands on his face. Surprisingly, it's Anne's small giggle which comforts him. He shrugs off Aramis' hand for good measure then welcomes it on the small of his back after he's sat up straight. Anne is hovering next to the couch. Aramis' blunt reponse was unexpected but he's Aramis. He's like that. Now that they are properly kissing, it would make sense if they would be more open about this part of their life. She's not _that_ naive.

 

“I know you're sleeping together, Porthos. I'm not an idiot.”

 

“I wouldn't dare think that,” he swears.

 

“I'm aware. And I'm a big girl. I can take it.”

 

“See? She can take it. She's fine.”

 

Porthos rolls his eyes, tousles his boyfriend's hair.

 

“Good. As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable.”

 

“That's be rather hypocritical, wouldn't it? Why would I be uneasy?” Anne is tugging at the hem of her tee-shirt. Porthos ponders her question.

 

“Well....because you're involved with us and we won't stop, haven't stopped, having sex. Even if you're not interested in joining us there.”

 

“Who said I wasn't?”

 

Her cheeks feel warmer, yet the question and the absence of hesitation relax Porthos. They _are_ having this conversation and it probably won't be as embarassing as he presumed. Anne is blushing quite ardently, eyes set somewhere behind them, yet never looking down. Aramis has stopped being sassy.

 

“I really, really like being with you,” Anne carries on. “And kissing you. The both of you and.... I guess I was actually thinking about you together....I mean....in bed, before last weekend even happened.”

 

“Were you?”

 

Aramis pats the couch so she can sit down. She's wringing her hands, pulling on the ring she never takes off. Her mind is full of images which are triggered whenever she sees them kiss. And new ones from how they danced last Saturday. Anne feels hot simply remembering these few minutes.

 

“I've only seen you kiss but it's already such a sight that I couldn't help....wondering about the rest.”

 

“I suppose it's a sight, too. Whenever you want, Anne. Whenever you're ready. Am I right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

It's all that Porthos can reply. He's sitting cross-legged, the random cushion he was playing with now a godsend as he clutches it to his lap. Aramis' cheeky comment was only there to lighten the mood but what he's inviting her to sounds incredibly hot and perfect and it would make Porthos reconsider how tired he is. Not so much after all if the night should last longer than expected.

 

“When we said we'd be happy if you only wanted to hang out with us, we meant it. And when Aramis said that you were welcome to more, we meant that, too. You're very beautiful Anne. Even right now. Especially right now. With no make-up and no fancy clothes and only you.”

 

“How you laugh and dip your head when you're a bit overwhelmed,” Aramis adds. “That's pretty.”

 

“And how you smile. And how at ease you are with us right now. With me and with Aramis. If you want us both...”

 

“I do,” she cuts him off.

 

“...you can have us how ever you want.”

 

Aramis moves next to him, trying to find a more comfortable position. He had imagined this discussion a couple of times, had hoped it would unfold like this, since Porthos and him are on the same page, but nothing could equal to the reality of it. Anne is sexy without meaning to. Hands fumbling on her knees and her gaze now set on the two of them. During all these years he had never thought of her in this situation and a few weeks, days and kisses have shaken his desires. His beliefs.

 

They still have no idea where she'll be sleeping tonight but they know for a fact one night she'll sleep in their bedroom.

 

Aramis needs some fresh air. A shower of his own.

 

“It's just....,” Anne starts. Stops. Her shoulders rise and fall with the gigantic breath she takes. “I've never slept with two persons at once and I've no idea...”

 

“I haven't either.” Her shame is gone the moment Aramis says it. She's not alone. She didn't have to be worry about this.

 

“I have but....it was only for a night and they already were a couple and it was just that. Sex. Nothing exceptional about it. I've never slept with two persons I feel very connected to. Like I do with you.”

 

“See? We're all the same here.” Aramis cheers her up.His hand is soft when she grabs it, shuffling closer. “It'll be like a first time!”

 

Anne's eyes light up and Porthos is grateful for it. For Aramis' joke and for her reaction to it. They did say they had to talk about anything which bothered them. He wishes they could put into actions what they are discussing, though. It's growing suffocating in his jeans and his tee-shirt. Aramis' warmth by his side isn't helping.

 

It feels like a giant leap whereas he simply has to lean forward a little and Porthos is kissing her. To thank her, to convey how much he cares and indeed wants her. How spectacular it is to have her close and to know that everything that the men want, she wants it, too.

 

Anne sighs against his open mouth, hums at Aramis' hand on her neck. How they are crowding around her. Fire blazing under her skin so rapidly. Fingers are on her back, pulling her even closer, if that's possible. She has no idea who they belong to, except that they rub her back, the streak of skin above the waistband of her shorts. A simple touch which is enough to drive her crazy. It's too much and yet she's craving more.

 

They could do more, those fingers, than keeping to her back. Anne certainly wouldn't mind. They are careful and slow, though. She can barely resist the attraction as it is so she marvels at how the men can hold back. They don't with their kisses, that's for sure. Porthos' mouth and his tongue and how it tastes like toothpaste on hers. It's theirs and it could seem that he's kissing Aramis. He wishes he could. Kiss him. Kiss them both at the same time. He's unwilling to let her go.

 

Aramis' fingertips grazing his boyfriend's underwear are enough. There is certainly no hesitation on that front. There's no need to take it slow with Porthos. Anne has to have realized how she makes them feel. How her skin and her scent mesmerize them. The way she squeezes Aramis' hand with great strength, nails digging in it.

 

She gasps and pulls back at the wet lips on her neck. This and Porthos' never-ending kiss make her dizzy. The men are a picture of amazement behind heavy eyelids and her flushed face and her ragged breathing. Porthos struggles to calm his speeding heart. Aramis kisses her neck again. Kisses her cheek. Kisses her lips. He wonders what she'll say if he touches the naked skin of her thigh. If their discussion and the kissing mean that she is already ready for more. His body sure is.

 

Is it too fast? Anne feels like it is, because it's only been a week and she wasn't kissing Aramis until the previous evening. Yet at the same time, it's as if it's all meant to be and they are as attentive as she could dream. She doesn't have to be afraid. She is a little overwhelmed by all that she is feeling nonetheless.

 

Porthos thinks he can see this. Her eyes are unable to focus and her hands are clutching her knees, holding back.

 

“Is that good?” It's a rasp, husky and stating that for Porthos, it is. She nods. “Is it too much?”

 

Nothing comes this time. Porthos is thankful Aramis doesn't press her. He seems disoriented which has rendered him speechless.

 

“It's been a while, that's all,” Anne eventually admits. “I can do more.”

 

“Do you want to?”

 

“You want to.”

 

“That's not an answer.” Porthos frowns. She looks like she's going to pass out from these minutes alone and no matter how much it'd hurt to physically stop there, Porthos would. “Anne, because I feel all hot and excited doesn't mean you have to feel obligated to do more.”

 

“Absolutely not!” Aramis finds his voice again. It's an outraged shrill before he remembers they don't want to wake up Mati. Being in the living room is too daring as it is. “I _am_ like Porthos.”

 

It's so obvious she's noticed it. It's difficult not to glance down at their crotches. Anne sucks in a breath everytime she manages not to.

 

Aramis can't help wondering if her reaction, to go further whereas she'd probably be fine just kissing, isn't the result of people she might have been involved with in the past. The result of that douche she dated up until last month. He knows so little about this part of her life.

 

“I'm turned on because you are very hot, Anne. And kissing you is much better than the hazy memories I have of it. But you're sexy anyway and you could just stand there doing nothing and I'd be turned on. I was last night.”

 

“That's nice to hear.”

 

“What is?”

 

“That you think I'm sexy.”

 

“You are,” Porthos concurs. “Cute and sexy.”

 

Anne smiles, smoothes her hair, tries to concentrate on her breathing and on not touching the others anymore. They're exceptional and she had forgotten what it could be like to be in a healthy and worry-free relationship. Perhaps she never experienced one.

 

“You're two of a kind, you know that?”

 

“Come on. We're not the first ones to tell you this. Any fool would see it.”

 

Aramis is oblivious to her new resolution, reaching for her waist. Sweaty fingers under her clothes and Porthos' hand timidly rubbing her silky calf. With no other intention than to show that he cares. His pants are nevertheless tight now. He knows it's the same for Aramis and they'll have to do something about it at one point. But they're not animals. They can't act with her like they always acted together.

 

Anne feels wanted and not only for sex, even though she's known this from the start. It gives her enough courage to say what else is bothering her. Or at least to mention it.

 

“There's something else I need to tell you. But it's....embarassing.”

 

That's a drastic change in the general atmosphere since this time, she does look it. Aramis acts on it immediately, kisses her softly then springs from the couch to hurry to the kitchen.

 

“I'll make you some tea.” And give himself the opportunity to cool down if she isn't invading his senses. “And thre's chocolate. And coffee our boyfriend,” Aramis adds, poking his head back in the room.

 

Porthos tells him he loves him exactly when Anne thanks him. She has no idea why Aramis is doing this, halting her in her confession. She's glad for the respite. Porthos can't stop looking at her with dark eyes, the same ones she's noticed were often directed at Aramis. To be their recipient, to be wanted and loved no matter what, it renews her confidence. They haven't judged her so far and they won't. That's not who they are.

 

“Here you go. Tea to calm you down and chocolate to make you feel better. Porthos, open your mouth.”

 

His boyfriend does as he's told, bites down on the dark chocolate and holds Aramis close after he's stirred the rest in his coffee. Anne watches them, amazed by their interactions, by how easy it is. How attentive they are. How Porthos distracts Aramis with kisses so he won't urge her to speak out. It'll still be embarassing regardless of when she chooses to divulge it. The sooner the better.

 

“I haven't slept with someone in a long time.”

 

“That doesn't matter. We'll go with your flow. I think before I met Porthos I had been single for more than a year.”

 

“I'm not talking a couple of years, Aramis. I mean a _very_ long time. As in....you're the last one I slept with.”

 

The tea is extremely hot in her throat, yet there's honey in it and she swallows it all to hide her face in the mug and to avoid looking at them.

 

Her mumble stretches in the subsequent silence. Porthos drinks his coffee for the same reason as she does while Aramis processes the information.

 

“But...we only...when I was.... that was almost....seven years....”

 

Thank God he doesn't have a mug of his own and Anne's is empty. She finds herself trapped in a tight hug, Aramis' arms clutching her with mighty strength. Soon enough, Porthos has reacted to his boyfriend urging him to do likewise. He doesn't hold back, keeping her close to his chest, gripping Aramis' tee-shirt. Almost stumbling in a messy pile. One small and soft fist closes on Porthos' shoulder and the men don't stop until Anne has somewhat stopped shaking.

 

This is pure love mingled with friendship, Anne decides. She never wants it to disappear.

 

“It really doesn't matter,” Aramis assures her.

 

“It doesn't.”

 

Porthos is astounded such a thing could happen, though. Long, long years without any sex? She was busy being a mother, which must have been a great distraction. Now he understands why she was scared to let people in, to trust and to go forward. He hopes from this moment on, with them, she won't be as much.

 

He still needs to blow off some steam and he can't wait to be alone to do so, either with Aramis or totally by himself. However, after all that she confided in them, he wouldn't mind simply cuddling for the rest of the night. They all deserve it.

 

“I wanted you to know. Since I might not be....very good at it.”

 

Anne shrugs. Aramis looks deeply offended.

 

“Nonsense. You're already spectacular at it. I love you, Anne. I loved you when you were just my friend. I love you now that you are more and you've told us all of this. I'll probably love you more in the future. You're my girlfriend. Ours.” That's thrilling. He has to pause and grin at her, then at Porthos. Aramis has cooled down a bit. Her revelation has helped. “I'll love you regardless of who you have, or in that case haven't, slept with.”

 

If anything, Porthos ponders, it makes her cuter. It makes him want to cherish her like he would never have believed he could. She doesn't need protecting, but she needs to be showed that it's all right. Anne is so confident in her daily life. Not when it comes to these feelings apparently. There's been a lot of fumbling and hair pulling and eyes cast down throughout their talk. They'll have to change this.

 

“You're very important to me, and you're my girlfriend, too,” Porthos stresses again. “I, and I suppose I can speak for Aramis so we, we won't ditch you for that. That'd be insane. We like you for more than that. Here, have some more chocolate.”

 

He offers her another piece, which makes her snort. She brushes her hair back, accepts it and the way it melts on her tongue relaxes her.

 

“Come here,” Aramis orders quietly, opening his arms wide and then they're both tumbling on the couch. There's no other place she'd rather be.

 

Especially once Porthos has put mugs out of harm's way and he lies down by her side, wrapping an arm over the one Aramis has draped around her waist. Porthos' breath is hot and steady in her neck. No more words to be said. Anne feels a bit drained by all they managed to discuss. All that they make her feel. How they react to her. How they respect her and perhaps love her more for what she's shared. They truly are two of a kind.

 

“Are we all sleeping here tonight now?” Porthos asks. “I'm asking because I'm pretty exhausted so I need to know before I pass out.”

 

It seems that an eternity has passed when he breaks the silence. He's threaded his fingers with Aramis'. They're comforting, along with the feeling of Anne's skin more inches from theirs. She's lying so perfectly still, her head on Aramis' shoulder, that Porthos would believe she has fallen asleep. Aramis knows she hasn't. She's been looking at him the entire time. Hardly blinking.

 

Squirming to settle onto her back and their hands are splayed on her stomach. Porthos had almost forgotten how this turned him on earlier. His guts churn at the sensation again. Anne's chest rises and falls peacefully now. If she only turned her head one way or the other, she's sure she could reach whatever lips she'd desire. That makes her smile giddily.

 

“You better change then. Sleeping in jeans really isn't nice. I'd like you to stay, yes. If we can all fit in.”

 

“We already are.”

 

“I mean, for the whole night. Does one of you hog the bed or anything?”

 

“Porthos does. But shove his shoulder and you'll be fine.”

 

“Yeah, like that,” Porthos demonstrates, shoving Aramis' before hovering above Anne so he can kiss his boyfriend.

 

It's been months since the men slept in something else than their underwear but they deem it wiser to wear pj bottoms for the night. Anne is snuggled under the large comforter and the pile of pillows when Porthos comes out of the bathroom. Lighter and confident that he should make it to morning without embarassing himself while sleeping next to her.

 

Aramis isn't helping, though, kissing her deeply. Her lips and her cheeks and her closed eyes and her forehead. That's the type of pure love and dedication Porthos has always wanted yet didn't acknowledge until he met Aramis. Now he can share it with these two.

 

He can keep these two. Feeling cozy with Anne's head on his chest when he drifts to sleep, Aramis spooning her and the fingers on her stomach brushing Porthos' side once in a while.

 

Porthos knows it can and will get better than this and yet it feels like paradise already.

 


	12. The Fair

When Aramis rolls around in the bed, one of his arms is still sprawled onto Porthos' hot and naked chest, the skin smooth against the quiet fingers. Rising slowly with each breath Porthos takes while he sleeps. Aramis' second hand only encounters emptiness, hanging over the edge. He shivers at the cold air on the bare foot poking out from under the comforter. It's been so hot that they've pushed it almost completely off. But the air is cool all of a sudden and oddly, Aramis realizes that there is too much space available for him to stretch.

 

Not that he wants to. He wants to remain asleep, hug Porthos and hug Anne and it's that final thought which makes him remembr he's not in his bed. He's in the living room. He's on the couch where they all agreed to sleep. The three of us. Except that if Aramis gropes around, he sure can find his boyfriend but his girlfriend is nowhere to be found.

 

He groans, pushes himself off and has to open his eyes to look at the appartment. Peer, more like. It's still dark and it's simply because he hears shuffling in another room that he decides to go investigate, stumbling on the tangled sheets.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

His mouth feels furred as he pads to the bedroom and Anne trying not to open her eyes either, wrapped that she is in a quilt and her head on the fluffiest pillow she could find. It smells like Aramis.

 

It's a comforting smell which would have lulled her back to her dreamy yet agitated slumber. She's not used to sharing her bed with somebody else, let alone two men. No matter how perfect and safe it made her feel at first. She's tired.

 

It's not even four in the morning.

 

“ _You_ were hogging the couch when I came back from the bathroom. Lying there like an octopus, smothering Porthos.”

 

“He's not complaining.”

 

“I'm not either. But you're such a heavy sleeper that you wouldn't budge.”

 

“Sorry about that. I woke up because you weren't there, though. I missed you.”

 

Aramis sinks face first by her side, his nose bumping with her elbow and hair everywhere. He's almost falling asleep again, drowsiness taking over. Anne curls up, cold feet on his bare leg which send shivers along his spine, softened by the fingers gliding on his bare back until they encounter his waist and hold on tight. Her face is in his hair, lips on it as well and Aramis doesn't need another explanation. Not that he has any intention of standing up again before morning

 

“What are you two doing?” Porthos slurs, shins hitting the foot of the bed after he's made his blind way to the bedroom and the whispers of the others.

 

His brain is hardly awake yet enough to see that Anne's wild blond hair and her sleepy eyes are adorable in the blue light coming from the street.

 

It's not even four in the morning.

 

“Well, Aramis....”

 

“Never mind. You'll tell me later. I'm tired.”

 

Aramis' arm appears in the air, catching a shoulder when his boyfriend has sunk on the mattress and has collapsed next to him.

 

“It's chilly in here,” Porthos mumbles.

 

It makes sense, given that since going to bed, he's lost all of his clothes save for his underwear.

 

After a while where nobody moves, Aramis groans. He has to agree, though, so he shimmies out of the comfortable position he was in to go get the bedcover. It feels light on them, cozy for a while.

 

“If this was a plot to steal the best spot next to Anne, we'll talk about it in the morning, too.”

 

Anne chuckles now that Porthos has indeed taken over Aramis' place by her side to hug her tight. Nobody is alert enough to question their gestures and desires in the middle of the night. The arm Aramis throws across his stomach tickles Porthos.

 

No clever repartee arrives. No word at all and Anne falls asleep so fast that she doesn't have time to listen to the synchronized snoring she found out about hours ago in the living room.

 

What wakes her up next comes slowly. Gently. It's not invasive. It floats in the air, a nice breeze above and under the bedsheets. It takes its time. It's not abrupt and Anne could listen to it for hours. Eyes closed to the bright white light of the outside world on her face. Ears tingling with the whispering rumble, unable to make out what it actually says.

 

The familiarity and closeness of the voices are enough. So are the tender noises of giggles and kisses. Of Porthos' hisses and the quite obvious threat that Aramis should stop whatever he's doing. More squirming and laughter and then a yelp, louder than the rest. And Aramis is silenced by his boyfriend's mouth. The _I love you_ , Anne doesn't need to hear it audibly to understand it. The words aren't directed at her, all alone that the men think they are in their bubble, but they make her smile nonetheless.

 

With everything that has happened -is still happening. That she's told them what bothered her. That they've accepted it all like the marvelous human beings that they are. That they've shared a bed -and a couch- and it was just that. Anne feels confident in her skin. Even if she's sweated a great deal in spite of her shower in the evening.

 

The perks of being close to Aramis and Porthos certainly outweigthed some of the downsides. Anne doesn't feel quite as rested as she'd like yet that won't stop her from having an amazing day with them.

 

Stretching till her toes wiggle, arms under the blanket, Anne finally opens her eyes. Carefully. Oblivious to the conversation which has stopped. She sees Porthos' embarassed eyes first. Looming a little above her. Followed by the funny vision of Aramis' dishevelled and flushed face appearing above Porthos, leaning on him.

 

“We woke you up, didn't we? 'Mis, I told you we would.”

 

“Hey!” Aramis says, failing to avoid the playful slap on his chest. “It's not my fault you're ticklish.”

 

“It is when you do it on purpose.”

 

“Such a shame that my attentions aren't appreciated as they should.”

 

“These were _not_ caresses. I'll show you what are later. We still woke up Anne.”

 

“It's fine.”

 

She can't help giggling at how cute they are together. Starting the day bantering like the perfect yet imperfect couple that they are. Her lazy smile lingers on her lips. Her hand clutches the comforter as she turns on her side to face them. She's far from a picture of beauty but they've seen worse. She's been sick in this appartment before. Pasty cheeks, sweaty neck and tangled hair hardly matter.

 

“Did you sleep okay?” Aramis asks. “Now that I wasn't next to you to take up all the space?”

 

“Oh. So _that's_ what happened. Yeah, he does that. Stop pouting, 'mis. It's true.”

 

Porthos secures his boyfriend right under his arm. His chest is the best pillow, a nice spot to watch Anne, her cheek cushioned on her hand.

 

“It was hot,” she has to admit.

 

“It was, wasn't it? I've no idea how you could resist us both, lying there, passed out. To do with us as you pleased.”

 

“I was talking about the temperature, Aramis.”

 

“Oh, yes! That too!”

 

Porthos very nearly facepalms at Aramis' cheekiness.

 

“Christ. What have I ever done to deserve a silly boyfriend like you?”

 

More giggles from Anne and Aramis shifts, rests his chin on Porthos' skin to gaze up at him. Aramis feels in a spectacular mood today. All of his favorite people are with him and there is not a cloud in his sky. Porthos may tease him, the fingers in the long dark curls are only loving.

 

“Nothing,” he replies. “You just had to stand there and look gorgeous and I was yours, sweetie.”

 

It's a stretch towards the other's lips that Aramis makes nonetheless, giving Anne the nicest morning sight she's been given to witness in a long time.

 

“And I was aware you were talking about how suffocating it became, Anne,” Aramis adds. “I mean, we lost almost everything we went to bed with.”

 

Anne is also very aware of this fact. All this naked skin put on display. What a great contrast they make: Aramis' tanned one and Porthos' darker one. It's beautiful. They blend in pleasantly well. So much that Anne has to see if it's the same with hers, which is definitely whiter.

 

Aramis can feel Porthos go absolutely still beneath him the moment she tests her theory, fingers touching the toned chest. Not moving, just staying there, which is thankful because with Aramis earlier who was only being playful and this innocent gesture, Porthos would probably make a fool of himself if she decided to ler her hand roam on him.

 

“I don't mind,” she assures them, a little light-headed by how hard Porthos' stomach is. All these muscles that she knew were there but she'd never seen before. “You're beautiful.”

 

It's a shy yet kind smile which shines up at them both. It's difficult to concentrate on anything else than her hand but Porthos manages to circle her waist and pull her closer till he can feel all of her against his side. He's rather awake now and his body is awakening, too and it may not help on the long term but he needs her there. He takes a deep breath then a second to believe that this isn't an extension of his dreams but the actual reality.

 

“From now on,” Anne ponders out loud, “you shouldn't bother with pjs or else you might succomb from the heat and that'd be a pity.”

 

“From the hotness, you mean?”

 

Anne laughs out loud, a breath of fresh air on Porthos' sensitive skin. He can't help snorting at his boyfriend's silliness, at his smug face. It's refreshing. Porthos' heart leaps at it like it hasn't done in a while. It should be forbidden to get used to Aramis' antics and his goofiness. Porthos is glad having Anne around helps him remember why his boyfriend is awesome. Fantastic. Relaxing. Porthos loves him much more thanks to Anne.

 

“There's no stopping you today, is there? And you've only been up for what? Fifteen minutes?”

 

Porthos turns his head back from the alarm clock to encounter a beaming Aramis. Definitely more awake than the other two, eager to have fun and enjoy as much as their company as he can. Starting with the new kiss he claims, open mouth on Porthos', balancing his weight on top of his boyfriend. Their legs tangle, Anne's hand falls from Porthos' chest. Not that it matters. Her body feels more alive now that somehow, she can catch glimpses of tongues and wet teeth. The way Porthos holds on to Aramis' hair is simply hypnotizing. It's no wonder that they look at one another with such contentment when breathing becomes a necessity.

 

Then their eyes are staring straight at her. Anne is dazzled. Mesmerized by how they look, by their inviting lips. By all the kisses she can also receive now.

 

So it's a surprise when she withdraws to avoid Porthos' mouth. She didn't mean to cause the feeling of guilt washing over his laxed face. Eyes clouding and he also pulls back, watching her with apprehension.

 

“Sorry, I thought...”

 

“Its not your fault. I do want to.” Anne may not care about her appearance, she cares about certain non-negligeable things. “I must have horrible morning breath.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

Porthos refrains from making fun of her, nevertheless relieved he did nothing wrong. He shouldn't have assumed she wanted a kiss, too. He should have asked but he's not used to. Aramis always wants it. Porthos will have to be more careful with Anne, especially after what he's learned last night. They'll get to a point when she'll truly be comfortable.

 

Until then, small steps. After all, she was cuddling with them a minute ago. Touching him quite intimately, so close to his heart that he's sure she could feel it drum. That's already better than it was a few days beforehand.

 

“I don't care how your mouth smells. I still want to kiss you hello, too.”

 

“So do I,” Aramis adds. “Besides, _I_ have morning breath as well and Porthos isn't complaining. It's all right.”

 

“It matters to me. Sorry.”

 

“No need.”

 

Porthos smiles, shows off ridiculously white teeth and Anne can't be ashamed or flustered anymore.

 

“Still. Go brush your teeth now se we can snuggle and kiss before Mati steals you from us,” Aramis urges her.

 

“And I thought _I_ was bossy.”

 

Anne laughs, nevertheless throwing back the sheets, ready to head to the bathroom. Porthos can't tear his eyes away from how her tee-shirt reveals so much skin. All her pretty stomach, and her underwear now that the shorts are too low on her hips. She has _no_ idea how wonderful she is.

 

“I've no clue where you would have heard such a thing.”

 

It's all Aramis can joke about because she's stretching, arms high in the air and then she's pulling her tee-shirt down and he's gone, too. Gone to join his boyfriend in the mush that Anne turns them into.

 

It's hopeless.

 

It's exciting and delirious.

 

Aramis is so happy. He must have seen Anne in her pjs countless times in the past. He's never, ever loved or desired her like he does now and it's an incredible new feeling. One hard to contain, though.

 

Even more when Anne turns on her heels, hair swinging and a smirk on her face.

 

“Mati says that's how you call me all the time.”

 

It's all she can do not to laugh out loud at Aramis' dumbfounded face. Because that would indeed wake up their son and it's too early for that.

 

Aramis flops back on the bed, head on Porthos' arm. They're both silent as they hear water running in the bathroom. Silent as they both contemplate how lucky they are that she's with them.

 

“She said we shouldn't wear more clothes than these next time,” Aramis remembers.

 

“I know, cupcake. I heard.”

 

“It means she liked it.”

 

“Yep. I did, too. I still am. And I love you, 'mis. I love goofy you.”

 

“I love you, too. And you loved when she touched you. I could tell.”

 

Porthos sighs loudly in response. There's a cold shower with his name on it in the near future. It's so worth it, though. The joy of spending these priviledged moments with Anne, to see her trust them more and more with each hour and day they are together. To have her truly be a part of their life and to realize that her addition to the mix is only beneficial. To know that in a matter of minutes she'll be back and they'll kiss and hug and she's an integral part of it now. She's been since their date and even before. They couldn't avoid it once she was in the city.

 

Porthos is falling for her as quickly as he's fallen for the cuddling boyfriend rubbing his nose on his arm, humming with delight and professing again and again how much he loves it all. Aramis has so much love for everybody. It's endless and it fills Porthos with serenity. To know he matters to all the people in his family, from the adults to the child. That he matters to his friends, too, and now he's somehow impatient to tell them they're both dating Anne. It gives him such contentment that the entire world should be aware of it. Of how radiant and whole they all make him.

 

There's too much in his heart to express, especially so early in the morning. What a rollercoaster this last week, and month, have been.

 

Porthos' nails leave goosebumps in their wake, tracing up Aramis' arm, cradling him close. It's impossible for Anne to imagine breaking their embrace. Instead, she stands there, engraving the picture of bliss in her memory.

 

“The bed was nicer,” she eventually comments.

 

“Than?”

 

“The couch. Firmer. Better for my back. Larger perhaps.”

 

“I should say so, yes,” Aramis thinks out loud. “Next time we can skip the couch and come straight here.”

 

“If you're okay with it,” Porthos is quick to add, eager to leave her a choice. Always.

 

Anne is smoothing her curls, raw cheeks from the cold water and the towel she used to dry her face. She's brushed her hair as well and now that she feels refreshed, more awake, she's definitely not embarassed by all the snuggles she's had before. If anything, she can't wait to resume them.

 

And yes, their suggestion seems enticing. There's no need to be afraid of a bedroom. Of a bed.

 

“I could sleep here again.”

 

“Good. Come here, then.”

 

Aramis extricates himself from Porthos' loving and warm arms to give her room to join them. She's light between them. Cooling skin against theirs. Her back to Aramis, just like they fell asleep. His arm around her waist, his chest strong against her. One leg hooking up with hers and the softest kiss in her neck when she's finally settled down. She grips the fingers on her stomach, the ones touching the skin there. Aramis' hand is so hot that it's a comfort.

 

His beard tickles her shoulder but she wouldn't dare tell him. His breathing is even, much more than hers. How could she calm down, in spite of the profund peacefulness of the moment?

 

Porthos hardly has time to start asking if now he can kiss her good morning that Anne shuts him up. Tender and quiet lips on his. Pressing yet her entire body pushes against Aramis. Trapped that she is, hungry for their mutual attention.

 

For Porthos' tongue in her mouth. How it takes care of her, how it rubs slowly. Deeply.

 

For Aramis' short yet overflowing kisses in her neck. They never stop. Every time she feels _his_ tongue, Anne shudders and is the one urging Porthos to go faster.

 

How Porthos balances his weight on his arm to move slightly on top of her, lying her down on her back. Aramis' hand splayed half on her top, half on her stomach. Thumb grazing back and forth.

 

Barely a second to breathe and then Anne is kissing Aramis. It's combined with Porthos' fingertip gliding along her jawline, his ragged breathing in her ear. Kissing it. Kissing the skin below it. Kissing her temple and she grips the hand on her stomach. She whimpers at the sweaty palm closing on hers and Aramis'. The sheer force of it all throws her off balance. It's a good thing she can't fall down.

 

Her chest heaves under their dark gazes. Their intensity is almost unbearable. If they were to kiss each other right above her, Anne is pretty certain that she'd combust. How can she resist them, she has no idea. Very, very slowly, she gives Aramis another peck, feels his smile when she does, and decides that she needs to investigate further.

 

Porthos' breath itches at her renewed attentions to his chest. Fingers moving from the shoulder to his abs. The sensitive skin of his stomach aflame once she touches it. Never going too low yet it's already too much. It's too much when she brushes a nipple and Porthos has to close his eyes and effectively grab her hand.

 

“You're going to drive me insane.”

 

His husky tone reassures her, along with the way he kisses her fingertips before releasing her. Porthos looks a bit dazed and it's because of her. So does Aramis when she looks at him. He's fine watching the others, provided he can touch and kiss, too, in due time.

 

By watching, he knows that Porthos is as turned on by the little touch as he could and if he's being honest, Aramis is a bit, too. He's lucky he isn't spooning Anne anymore. It's fantastic to have her in bed with them. Willingly and ready to move forward. Aramis doesn't dare think where it would all lead if there wasn't the impending arrival of their child waiting to happen.

 

For the time being, he's satisfied caressing her waist, hearing no hesitation every time he dares move a little higher. There's great desire shining in Porthos' eyes while he looks at Anne's stomach and what Aramis is doing. What he wouldn't give to do the same. It'd be too much, though. If this is how he reacts only from caresses, Porthos wonders how he'll handle actual sex.

 

It'll be spectacular, and really, he doesn't want to wait. Maybe doing so will blow his mind even more. If it doesn't literally does so.

 

“Is that good?” Aramis asks in a rasp.

 

Anne can't answer, too busy swimming in the liquid passion that they've unleashed on her. With them both, it wouldn't matter if she'd never slept with anybody else in her life. They make the past seem meaningless. They're her future, in and out of bed and she can't wait.

 

So she nods, ponders inviting Porthos to do like Aramis is doing, but all of a sudden, there's no time to be by themselves anymore.

 

“ _Mamá?”_

 

“ _In here, buddy!”_ Aramis helps, clearing his throat. It's a bit hoarse yet he isn't as betwitched as Anne is. She feels empty when his hand is gone. Porthos falls back on the bed with a wooshing sound, breathing through his mouth. His heartbeat is wild and still not under control after Mati has padded to the open door. They'll have to be more careful with it in the future.

 

“ _Papá?”_

 

“ _Mamá woke up before you and wanted some cuddles, too.”_

 

“ _In bed?”_

 

“ _Yes. Like you do sometimes.”_

 

“ _I can come, too?”_

 

“ _Sure you can, champion. Hop on!”_

 

The boy's hair is as dishevelled as his father's, catching the shy rays of sunshine from the street and the April sky. There's more light in how Mati rubs at his eyes, yawns around his excited smile. Small legs quickly carry him to the bed that he climbs, scrambling up to find his cozy way in between his parents.

 

Neither Porthos nor Anne can speak yet and they find themselves in such close proximity that given what the child interrupted, it shouldn't be comfortable. Porthos recovers rather rapidly, though, so Anne can't help wondering if he isn't used to Mati stopping little romantic interludes. Anne is the one struggling to behave normally.

 

She'll get better at it, certain that this might be her first time being in this situation, but it won't be the last. And after all, it's her son. Burying farther beneath her arm, having no remorse whatsoever complaining loudly that his father's beard itches. Giggles drown in the cuddles and Aramis clearly does not stop until he receives a kick in the stomach and it sobers him up.

 

It's enough to calm Anne. To remember that it's been a very long time since she could snuggle in bed with her son and his father. That she had missed it. The warmth of Mati. Mati as a whole, too, hanging on to her waist once she's straightened up and she's sitting, back to the headboard. Mati's head on her chest. Aramis as close as he can, chin almost on her shoulder, asking the boy if he slept well, if he had missed his bed and all the teddy bears. If he had nice dreams.

 

Mati's recollection of them takes forever. Among pauses and stammering and random details that he doesn't recall at the correct moment, Anne relaxes completely. Porthos is still a strong presence by her side, holding on to her so he doesn't fall off the bed. His arm around her waist, fingers on her hip but now, they've lost the excitement they had earlier. Now they're just here, present and smooth.

 

Anne could spend all her mornings like this. Cuddling in bed with her baby and his fathers. It's an even better reward to see that Mati doesn't question anything. He's over the moon to have all the adults with him. To hear them laugh and ask more questions. To be the center of attention.

 

“I have to pee,” he declares when he's done, mouthing at Anne's collarbone. Porthos laughs out loud.

 

“Go ahead then, buddy. And then we'll eat breakfast,” Aramis replies.

 

“Pancakes, Papá?”

 

Bodily needs are forgotten in that split second. Mati wipes his head around, bumps into Aramis' face and they both groan. Mati is rubbing his nose, not deterred by the mild pain. Porthos tries not to smirk more at his boyfriend's obvious dislike of the idea. This makes him _so_ happy.

 

“Mamá's our guest, Mati. Why don't we ask her what she'd like?”

 

“Mamá?”

 

A small head wipes around again, oblivious to the pleading eyes staring at Anne so Aramis won't have to cook so early. She takes the hint.

 

“Pancakes are a lot of work, aren't they, sweetie? And I'm really, really hungry right now. I'd love some croissants.”

 

“From the bakery?”

 

“Absolutely. And warm bread with Nutella would be perfect, wouldn't it?”

 

“Yes!” Mati shrills, boucing in the bed, unable to focus on any of his parents. “Papá! We go to the bakery to buy it!”

 

“With what money?”

 

“Yours! Come on!”

 

He's shuffling on Aramis' lap, stumbling down the bed, a firm grasp on his father's hand to drag him along. Aramis can't help grinning, playing his part, not minding the ordeal of putting on clothes and going outside. He already knows he's going to spoil his boy now that he's back. And that he's less cranky than he was the previous evening.

 

“You and I go out and Mamá and Porthos can set the table and make fresh orange juice. Okay?”

 

“Okay!”

 

They should bribe him with baked goods more often because they've never seen him put on clothes so fast. If anything, Mati is the one telling Aramis to hurry up while he kisses Porthos and Anne good bye. None of them can be disappointed that the child interrupted them before. That's how their Sunday mornings should all be. Having Mati around gives them less time to discover one another yet it creates a family life that is quite close to perfection. Where everyone is happy and comfortable. Where nobody worries that they are overstepping boundaries.

 

Anne is nonetheless sorry that Porthos has put on sweatpants and a tee-shirt. He hasn't lost his smile, though, showing off kitchen appliances and it feels nice, to be just the two of them. It hasn't been awkward in days, it'll never be from now on. But it's definitely nicer once Aramis is back, an excited Mati in tow and enough food to feed the four of them for the entire week.

 

“It doesn't look like it's going to rain today. It's not that chilly either.”

 

“Good. I think someone will be in need of exercise soon.”

 

Mati agrees with his mother, nodding quickly, his mouth full of bread. He's chewing loudly but at least they can't see what's inside his mouth.

 

“Do you think we should ask Charon and Flea if they want to come? She seemed interested when we mentioned the fair on Friday.”

 

Aramis eyes Porthos carefully, watching the reaction and the frown he can't help. Porthos takes a minute to consider it.

 

“I guess....but not if she's going to snap at us again.”

 

“Did something happen?” Anne has to ask, noticing how Porthos has tensed by her side. Mati bangs his teaspoon against his glass and wants the knife to make another toast.

 

“Flea was upset we spent last night with you and Mati instead of with them all. That's all,” Porthos explains.

 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to....”

 

“You've nothing to apologize for, Anne.” There's chocolate on the corner of her mouth and it's adorable. Porthos squeezes her hand under the table to soothe her troubled eyes. “I wanted to be with you. They'll get used to it. Flea will live.”

 

“But in that case....it's probably a good idea to invite them to join us. I don't mind. Mati likes her.”

 

“Flea works with animals!”

 

“She does. I'll call later, then.”

 

Porthos is hoping she won't cause another scene, given that he still isn't sure what actually prompted the argument in the nightclub.

 

“My game has animals, too! We have to play!” Mati exclaims randomly.

 

“We're eating, buddy.”

 

“You said we'd play today, Papá! Mamá!”

 

“I remember, yes. After breakfast. Swallow your food.”

 

Mati does so rather audibly, demands juice and mumbles a please when he's asked to. How proud he looks once it turns out that that he has to press more oranges himself, his shrieks almost louder than the appliance. It's so exciting that he also has to serve another glass to everyone, even _Porfos_ who is too busy on his phone.

 

Not for long because as soon as Mati has decided that he isn't hungry anymore, it's time to play and Porthos is enlisted as his teammate. The board game is in Spanish and Mati makes it his mission to explain everything to his stepfather. The rules and the dice and the pieces. When they do win the first game, Mati attributes it to his genius and his brilliant explanations. Not to his partner or to the fact that the opposing team gladly let him win.

 

That's how life with her son should always be. Should always have been if Aramis hadn't been forced to move to Paris. Anne doesn't want to be a single mother any longer. She wants Aramis with them like she's been hoping for since she moved to the city as well. The two of them with her. Like a family should be. Except Porthos has been thrown in the midst and if it's peculiar and unexpected, Anne won't lose time questioning it.

 

Life is too short to reject love and happiness, especially when you've found them in their deepest and purest form.

 

Anne will let Mati and Porthos win for as long as she can if it means watching the boy clap with delight, jump by Porthos' side and hang on to his arm, a wide smile illuminating the small face.

 

It's the kind of joy which won't vanish for the rest of the day, Mati unwilling to let go of Porthos, since they make an amazing team. He's a picture of cuteness at the fair, hands high in the air, begging to be picked up so he can analyze the surroundings, the rides and the confection stands. All the places that he wants to see from up close. Also, being on Porthos' shoulders means that he's even taller than his father and the boy is quite proud of it.

 

It's nothing compared to Porthos' pride. The added weight is insignificant. What is is realizing that he's been missed during the week in Spain. That Mati is as glad to have him back as he is to be with his natural parents.

 

Porthos really doesn't need a piece of legal paper to show the world what the child means to him. But he can't wait to sign it either.

 

Aramis is smiling by his side, feeling about the same. Relieved he isn't the one carrying Mati. Besides, he gets to hold Anne's hand on their walk while they marvel at what their son is shouting. While they listen to chirpy music, try to dodge people in the crowd. They don't go fast enough and at one point they end up behind Porthos, who is unmistakable with the addition on his shoulders. Anne doesn't need any candy to be on a sweetness overload. Aramis laughs out loud at her confession, kisses her soundly on the cheek to warm it and enjoys how Anne clutches his waist.

 

Unfortunately, she stops the second a new shout informs them that Flea and Charon have been spotted. She steps away, leaving a gap between them. It's an unspoken decision, one taken because Anne may not be ready to be so out with people they know. One perhaps influenced by their talk over breakfast. There's no sadness or apprehension in her eyes, though. She is still looking at Aramis the way she was a minute earlier.

 

They're just not touching anymore. He can live with that.

 

He wouldn't have a choice anyway since Mati is all that matters, even with Porthos' friends around. Flea looks like herself, praising the boy for having grown so much in Spain. He's even taller than Porthos now. Giggles ensue, and hugs after Mati is safe on the ground again. Porthos finds that she might even hug him tighter than usual, which would be a feat. She's even more than cordial with Anne, which also is a surprise considering how she talked about her on Friday night.

 

They're not here to argue, though. They're here to pay rides to Mati and Charon is here to supply cash so his girlfriend can buy soda and waffles. And so they can tell Porthos and Aramis all the fun they missed at Athos'. It leaves Anne on the sideline a little and even though they choose not to be openly affectionate with her, one of the men is always near her to be sure she doesn't feel utterly rejected.

 

Besides, Aramis goes a step further, winning her a giant teddy bear at a shooting stand. The one Mati immediately wants to claim for himself. So his father has to win another one, making his entire audience rather impressed.

 

“You're quite the shot,” Charon says, whistling.

 

“I used to go hunting with my dad when I was younger. I haven't done it in years.”

 

“It seems you haven't lost it.”

 

“You shouldn't let Tréville know that or else he'll try to enlist you,” Flea adds. Aramis chuckles.

 

“Yeah, 'mis,” Porthos agrees. “With that and fencing, you must have been a soldier in another life.”

 

There was something captivating about Aramis holding the air rifle. The concentration and the precision. How calm he remained throughout it all. How very smug he looks, kissing Porthos on the mouth. Taking all the compliments. Mati would clap if he wasn't struggling to keep his balance with his new toy in his arms.

 

“Do it again, Papá!”

 

“Surely one bear is enough, champion. And Mamá doesn't need another one either.”

 

“I don't even know where we'll put this one.”

 

It's gigantic and it's blue now that Mati has begged to exchange it. Anne actually likes the colour better than the bright purple and pink bear her son now owns.

 

“In my room! With mine! Papá, shoot again! Flea has no bear.”

 

“You are very correct.” She smirks, hands on her hips. This kid is so adorable she could cover him in kisses. Aramis snorts.

 

“I wouldn't want to deprive Charon of the honour.”

 

“Deprive all you want, dude. I'd do terrible.”

 

“Oh, come on! I want a bear, too! Please! Please?”

 

Flea hangs on to her boyfriend's arm, pouting and making puppy eyes and Porthos can see that she's fine. Better than at the nightclub. Disregarding whatever problems she may have to spend a great time with them all.

 

It's improved after Charon has given in and done his best. The toy is smaller, but it's fluffier and it's a unicorn and as a vet, Flea can assure Mati that it's an animal as real as his bear. She's won his heart for the rest of the afternoon.

 

“Do you hear that, Mamá? Real unicorns!”

 

“I do. It must be fantastic to see one from up close.”

 

“Do you have pictures?”

 

Flea has to disappoint but her excuse makes up for it.

 

“Sadly, no. But I know that people are so hypnotized when they see one, because it's very white and very beautiful. So they don't think about taking pictures.”

 

Mati's eyes grow wide and both his mother and Flea reach out to prevent him from tripping on thin air. Porthos gets to hold the bear to avoid further injuries. What's important is that Flea is catching Anne's thankful gaze and replies to her thank you. She goes as far as engaging another conversation with her. For the sake of the boy, but still.

 

Porthos bumps Flea's shoulder, arms full of faked furr. They're sitting around a table, another bear on the chair next to Charon. Eyes looking up at the ferris wheel where they promised they would look for Mati. Porthos is fine sitting this one out, letting Aramis and Anne have this moment with their son. It goes too high for his liking anyway.

 

“Isn't there a rollercoaster in Disneyland which goes higher?”

 

“It's not the same. It doesn't go as slow. Look at it, it's barely moving. And don't talk about Disneyland when Mati's around. It's still a surprise.”

 

Flea zips her mouth, steals Charon's fries and holds his hand with greasy fingers. Seemingly carefree. Worry-free. Making faces at the carrousel where kids can ride poneys and that she calls animal cruelty. A tad louder than necessary to be sure the owners hear her. They've avoided an outburst when Mati decided he didn't want to go if none of his parents could accompany him.

 

“Anne isn't so bad, is she?” Porthos hazards.

 

“I never said she was. We have nothing in common, that's all.”

 

“You have me.”

 

“I guess.....,” Flea narrows her eyes, studies her friend's face, trying to make sense of it all. But she doesn't want another lecture and Porthos _is_ happy even when Anne is around so Flea doesn't push it further. “She's with you so often now, and as someone pointed out, I have to get used to it.”

 

She side-eyes Charon who shrugs and sips on his beer. It's the truth. He's not going to stop seeing Porthos because his girlfriend doesn't like his stepson's mother.

 

“Exactly,” Porthos approves. “It's good to see you're feeling better, Flea. Friday sucked.”

 

“I know. I'm trying.”

 

Charon squeezes her hand, lets her steal some of his drink and wipes the foam above her mouth.

 

“Today's great fun, Porthos,” Flea adds. “Thank you for inviting us along.”

 

“No problem. It's Aramis that you need to thank actually.”

 

“Will do. If they ever reach the ground again. I must say that pink really does compliment your skin tone.”

 

Porthos scowls, then scowls some more at Charon smirking and precariously setting the plushed unicorn on top of the bear so it hides his friend's dark glare. A mischievous Flea is better than an angry one. Besides, she'll always have Charon with her to support her. He's been doing it for a couple of hours now, since they met. Silently having her back. They've all grown up together. They can hardly keep secrets from one another. Porthos has noticed. It's a wonder they haven't been suspicious about his attitude towards Anne.

 

Or if they have, they're keeping it quiet.

 

“But they are quite close,” Flea remarks, tilting her head towards Anne and Aramis coming their way. She's pulling on his hair for whatever reason and Porthos basks in their glorious smiles, even from far away.

 

“Everybody says that. And it's fine.”

 

The adjective is too small to encompass all that Porthos truly feels and once he'll tell his friends what's happening in his life, it won't be the one he uses. Although after so long, it finally is. Fine. He feels no jealousy or resentment for their relationship. He can't. He'd do the same with the both of them.

 

“It's fine, Flea,” he repeats. “Really. You don't have to worry about me.”

 

“You know, if it weren't for your precious nose and your cute eyes, I would almost not believe you're the same Porthos we grew up with.”

 

“He still watches football,” Charon tries to help. “And he devours hamburgers without putting on weight.”

 

“Stop with your stupid smile, idiot.”

 

Flea shoves her friend's shoulder only to do it again when Porthos fakes to be hurt. Her smile is nothing less than genuine. _Much_ better than Friday night.

 

“Porfos! Did you see me, Porfos? I waved!”

 

Mati still does, rushing to his stepfather, toppling the toys to the ground in the process.

 

“I did! You were so tiny! Like this!” He holds out two fingers a mere inch apart. It makes Mati giggle. “You're much bigger now.”

 

Mati beams up, grinning. Eyeing the glass and asking if he can drink, too, please.

 

“Mamá was so scared, she had to hug Papá all the time!” He exclaims after he's done drinking. Anne doesn't look sorry at all.

 

“It does go very high in the sky.”

 

“But I wasn't scared, Porfos!”

 

“Of course not. You're the bravest.”

 

The new compliment grants him the right to welcome the child on his lap and to help him eat the crêpe that Flea buys him. It stops Mati's rambling for the rest of their time at the fair.

 

Because mentioning hugs already made Flea react. Or rather, the lack of reaction on Porthos' side did. Aramis is lucky his son didn't talk about the couple of quick stolen kisses. In the great scheme of things, perhaps it's Mati who will let everyone know they're all dating. And they'll never be prepared for this.

 


	13. The Birthday Surprise

With Mati back in Paris, it's harder for the adults to find time to themselves. Anne would gladly spend all her evenings with the men but it could confuse her son and besides, it's nice to have some time to herself once in a while. It makes her cherish the moments when they _are_ together even more.

 

She comes for dinner twice during the following week, and leaves quite some time after Mati has gone to bed, always disappointed when he's told that his mother won't be here when he wakes up. These are long evenings with Aramis and Porthos spent watching TV and cuddling. Talking and reading. Helping with the dishes, with the cooking. Laughing. Finding that no matter how much the men deserve time alone and how difficult it is to move from a single life to dating them both, these hours are the most exquisite. Anne always falls asleep with no worry whatsoever. They have a new balance in their life which fits them.

 

These are long evenings spent kissing. So much.

 

It's getting to her head. The liberties they are taking, even when they aren't trying. The delicate kisses Aramis gives her neck or how Porthos holds her hand, holds her in his arms. So tight that she doesn't feel fragile at all. She feels wonderful. How patient they are, which is quite the opposite of what Anne would have expected. Going with her flow. Never trying to push sex on her. Not that they've ever done but it's nice that way. All her former apprehension has all but vanished thanks to her remarkable boyfriends.

 

Even when she does stay the night on Saturday evening, a week after Mati has come back, and she wants to sleep on the couch, nobody contradicts her. What's the point in making her uncomfortable? It's her choice. At least she's staying. Porthos had almost forgotten what it was like to date a woman. Aramis is always -quite literally- ready to snuggle and fool around. Ready to have as much sex as he can. It's clear Anne isn't quite ready for this so Porthos has reined in his urges.

 

Because even if she did want it, she wouldn't be able to.

 

Porthos has his boyfriend in bed, who is as disappointed as he is that Anne won't join them. If only to kiss. How lucky men are not to get periods. It's exactly what Aramis told her once she'd explained why she was better off on the couch. It's the reason why they only cuddled in silence before going to sleep in different rooms.

 

It's also the reason why on Sunday morning, she wakes up to chocolate pastries for breakfast.

 

A heavenly smell combined with long hugs, careful kisses and a sleepy Mati who makes a fort of her blanket and refuses to come out to eat. He only does so when his mother jokes that if there are fresh baked goods in the appartment every day, then she should probably move in. The boy finds this to be a tremendous idea. His parents all in one place all the time. No need to move back and forth since, obviously, his mom loves it as much as he does at his fathers'.

 

Besides, if that were the case, Anne would most certainly accompany them to Tréville's for the day instead of having to go to work. On a Sunday! If they all lived together, they would all lead the same life.

 

On that day, the adults brush off the suggestion as best as they can, unprepared to confront it. Anne is embarassed her joke was taken seriously. It nonetheless awakens a stirring in her heart. For the past month or so, her happiest memories are with the men and their son. Either in their home or not. But always with them. It's too quiet and cold in her appartment when Mati isn't with her, despite it being greatly appreciated once in a while. It helps her think, to be alone.

 

Aramis and Porthos are an extraordinary couple, though, always welcoming her for more. Never holding back on their affection. Holding back their passion a little. Anne notices it in their eyes and their sweet gestures. Aramis is constantly reaching out for her whenever she's close, exploring what he feels for her how ever he can.

 

Especially when they aren't in bed. It's good in a way. Better to grow closer. Impossibly so as far as he's concerned. For Porthos, it's an onslaught of feelings triggered by the smallest discoveries and it's all he needs to be fully convinced that he isn't only attracted to her physically. Sure he is, and each kiss ignites a slow-burning fire, but Anne has a shining soul, too, and it's divine to have her around.

 

So if it has to happen more and more often, nobody is complaining. Living arrangements aren't something they wish to discuss further even without the child around. They're good as they are and it's already a victory.

 

The same question does come back a few days later, when Mati is staying with his mother and it happens to be his birthday. He's as excited as anyone would expect him to be, even though it's a school night and he should be tired. It's his first birthday that Porthos gets to celebrate with him and it's better than being shown pictures. The fries that Anne makes for her guests. The cake and candy and the few presents. Books and a new toy and the calls from Spain. So much going on that Mati never wants to go to bed.

 

“You can sleep here. Like Mamá does in your home,” he decides, all innocent that he is, clinging to Porthos after they've deemed it enough for the night. School won't start late the next day simply because someone turned six.

 

“That would be quite uncomfortable, buddy,” Aramis argues.

 

First because the place is smaller than theirs and second because Anne's couch is just that: a couch. The men won't hog her bed. It wasn't even an option when they came for dinner. They are fine with it.

 

“But it's my bir _f_ day!”

 

“So?”

 

“Please, Papá? You can read the new story!”

 

“We can still read some of it and not stay to sleep. It's all right.”

 

Aramis gathers his son from his boyfriend's leg to sit on the couch, cradling the growing boy. Visibly ready to have a conversation to finally clear some things up.

 

“Porthos and I love being with Mamá, too. Like you do. We love spending time together and tonight was great, wasn't it?”

 

Mati nods, watches his mother sit by Aramis' side and Porthos sit on the floor by their feet. He clutches his father's fingers on his waist, rests blond curls against a strong and warm chest.

 

“And we're going to spend even more time together now because we all love each other very much.”

 

Anne starts a bit because while she's never denied loving Aramis and they've discussed their mutual feelings quite a lot for the past weeks, _love_ has never been what Porthos said he could feel for her. Or what she could feel for him. He does turn her head with his dimples, his smart eyes, his deep laughter and his rough skin.

 

Porthos is looking at her kindly, not at Aramis while he's talking. Damn his boyfriend and his perfect parenting skills. Porthos is aware that he turns to mush whenever he sees or thinks about Anne. It's bound to lead to something greater, to something which is already slowly blooming in front of them without any of them being able to prevent it.

 

Mati is little and love is an emotion he understands, which is why Aramis has chosen to use the words regardless of the depth of the others' feelings. Mati doesn't comprehend the intricacities of the emotion but the general basis, he gets. He's totally following what his father is saying.

 

Anne ignores her blush to concentrate on it, too.

 

“But you know, sweetie,” Aramis continues, “you don't always have to be with someone every hour of every day to love them. There are nights when Mamá and you aren't with us and we still think of you. Just like it was when you were in Spain. Except now it's better because we see you a lot more.”

 

“I like that, Papá.”

 

“So do I.” He drops a kiss on the blond curls, smiles at Anne. “Still. People need their space sometimes. Which is why we're not staying tonight. Not because we don't love you.”

 

“And besides,” Porthos adds, “we're going to spend the weekend all together again.”

 

“For my surprise?”

 

Mati still hasn't been told what it is and it annoys him. He's rather impatient. He's been promised that it'd be the most magical birthday present.

 

“Exactly,” Aramis confirms. “So surely, Mamá wants a few hours without us before that!”

 

Anne assures them that she could never grow tired of them. She does so when Mati is in bed to avoid giving him another argument to demand that the men stay. It's nice nonetheless to fall asleep by herself in her bed, her mind swirling with the thought of the two nights they are going to spend in hotel rooms. A neutral territory where anything can happen. She's perhaps more excited by this than to see her son's face once he realizes they're taking him to Disneyland.

 

It turns out that nothing can quite surpass it, though. Their destination is a mystery late in the afternoon the following day. They won't be back until Sunday night so for Mati it's a bit of a disappointement that he won't be able to try the new swim trunks he's just been gifted by his grandparents.

 

They are completely forgotten as soon as he recognizes the characters on the many posters everywhere at the train station. The giant castle all lit up in the distance. Mickey Mouse in all the stores they pass. On the street lamps. Even on the cobblestones. It's useless to try to keep a hold on his hand.

 

He's bouncing, stars in his eyes and Aramis basks in it, his arm around Anne's waist and Porthos' hand brushing his. Until he decides it's not enough and grabs it firmly.

 

Mati can't talk and instead shrills his happiness and excitement rather loudly. His parents can't make him keep quiet while they check in at the hotel so Anne volunteers to watch the castle from the French windows. The large streets in the park and all the things they'll be able to see in the morning. The view from their room is as spectacular as it was from the lobby. The hotel is right by the entrance of the park. One step out of the door and you've entered a totally different world.

 

Porthos has only been there once or twice, only for day trips and he would have refused to waste so much money on fancy luxury suites if it hadn't been for Mati's birthday. It's worth it to see the boy a bit overwhelmed with the princesses' paintings in the small living room. The pillows shaped like characters, the cookies and the birthday gift on the coffee table. The sweatshirt that he decides he'll wear for the entire weekend.

 

Mati proclaims it to be the best birthday _ever._

 

It's easy to feel as gleeful as him, without a care in the world, all in his joy to be with his family, with peole who love him. Porthos feels the same. Says the same to Aramis, hugging him from behind, trapping him against his chest. Aramis sinks in the embrace, anchors himself to his boyfriend, content to be silent. Nevertheless listening to Anne who sounds like she is wrestling Mati into his pjs, and attempting to make him choose the movie he wants to watch in bed. There is a rather extensive DVD collection put at their disposal.

 

Aramis doesn't relinquish his spot, sprawled between Porthos' legs on the large bed, a super fluffy duvet on them both to watch the film. Mati is yawning on Anne's shoulder less than fifteen minutes into it. Rubbing his eyes, pushing himself further into her arms. Making her snuggle closer to Porthos and his comfortable arm around her shoulders.

 

There's so much care in the way his fingers graze down her arm and so much in Aramis' light kiss to the closest available bare skin that Anne feels like this is everything she's ever wanted out of a relationship. Nothing complicated. No need to wreck her nerves to enjoy herself.

 

She only had to wait for the correct two men to show up. At the same time.

 

That's a strong bond, whether she wants to acknowledge it as love or not. Yet. It's never been simple lust for any of them.

 

However, the long kiss Aramis gives her when they've switched the TV off, standing in the doorway between the two bedrooms in the suite isn't as sweet as the previous ones. It's deeper and hotter, fingers splayed on the skin of her back, never hesitating to go under her clothes anymore. Her hands are on his hips, clutching, rubbing and Aramis' tongue in her mouth pushes her backwards not so gently.

 

He can't make her stumble. Porthos is there to keep her from doing so, one hand closing on the one she's using to grip Aramis' shirt. His lips are soft in her neck. Hot and open, making her tilt her head, close her eyes and effectively curse under her breath at Mati's sleepy mumbles asking for her so he can fall back asleep.

 

“Gosh, this is hard,” Porthos complains once the door is closed, Anne and the child on the other side of it.

 

Aramis is stretching, sitting on the bed. Porthos wipes his mouth after having brushed his teeth, throwing the towel on the magnificent and sparkling tiles. Then thinking better of it, he picks it up again.

 

It's one thing to agree to go with Anne's flow, to be patient. It's another one to kiss, watch her kiss his boyfriend until it leads to his mind being flooded with fantasies he'd love to see happen very soon. Only for it all to dissolve into nothing but frustration, ragged breathing and Porthos staring at his stupid reflection in the mirror.

 

He wants Anne so much.

 

“This is why you have me, right? And I have you.”

 

Aramis smirks, crooking a finger to urge Porthos closer. He scrambles to the middle of the bed, never losing a second of his terrific half naked boyfriend stalking to him and sighing as he sinks onto him. Aramis feels wonderful for the weight on top of his body, for the skin under his roaming fingers and the following kisses.

 

None of this has changed and Porthos loves it a whole lot more now. If that's even possible. They've found out that talking about Anne while making out, during foreplay or during actual sex was something they both immensely enjoyed and they won't stop because she's next door. She's aware they're having sex without her.

 

Aramis moans at the teeth on his neck, the wet lips along his jawline. He hooks one leg to Porthos' waist to bring him down onto him, sneaky fingertips in his boyfriend's underwear.

 

Thank God they have each other indeed.

 

“It's just that.....she's so amazing,” Porthos tries to explain. “The way she looks at us. So much trust and confidence and I wish she'd be right here with us.”

 

“So do I, believe me. One day.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Porthos groans at Aramis grabbing his hand so he can start caressing his stomach, hitching his shirt up. Porthos goes slowly, taking his time, enjoying Aramis' reaction and pondering it all at the same time. He kisses the corner of Aramis' mouth. Then his mouth and again the corner on the other side. Aramis has to close his eyes and smile. Porthos shivers at the nails scrapping the nape of his neck.

 

“You know, 'mis, we've been going out for what? Three weeks? And it's the first time it's taken me so long to get in the sack with someone.”

 

“How romantic,” Aramis snorts.

 

“Maybe that's the thing?”

 

“What is?”

 

“That I feel so much for her that it doesn't matter as much as it would have done in the past?”

 

“Perhaps she's the one, sweetie.”

 

He rubs Porthos' chest, likes how the other's head blocks the chandelier which has been blinding him. Yet Porthos bathed in the light is quite a regal sight.

 

“Nah,” Porthos eventually realizes. “You are.”

 

“I'm what?”

 

“The one. I think. I'm kinda sure. It's just....never been the same since I've met _you_.”

 

Porthos isn't used to talking romanticism and it unsettles him a bit to manage to come to such an obvious evidence easily. It's Aramis, though, and everything with Aramis has been so clear from the beginning, even when they were still fumbling.

 

He frees himself from Aramis' embrace to lie down on the bed with a thud. His boyfriend's cooing and dishevelled face is above him in a second. There's pure ecstasy shining in his eyes and his smile and Porthos has to laugh.

 

For someone who loves romance as much as Aramis does, yet who doesn't overdo it in his daily life, it's the best admission he could have dreamed of. Better than I love yous and promises to make a life together. It quietens his heart because it would have nonetheless hurt a little if Porthos had admitted that Anne was the one instead. His love for Porhos is too radiant in how simple and easy it is. This giant teddy bear that Aramis loves to cuddle and that hides all these delicate and precious emotions.

 

Two fools in love and no intention of stopping anytime soon.

 

“See? You're quite the romantic actually. I like it,” Aramis adds in a whisper, sealing it with a greedy kiss, hands strong on Porthos' shoulders to hoist himself higher until he's climbed on his boyfriend, straddling him.

 

Kissing all the tasty skin on display. They'll have to smuggle some of this fancy shampoo home. Aramis giggles anytime he encounters a random glitter on Porthos' skin.

 

Porthos drowns the giggles with two hands flat on his boyfriend's ass, kneading through loose pants and underwear. Mouth hanging open at Aramis rocking his hips in little movements, wondering how much they'll both need to get hard. Porthos shudders at the tongue tracing his lips, the fingers raking his chest, nipples and soft hairs included and Aramis' curls in the crook of his neck after a while. Too busy for words as Porthos pushes his hips up, rolls them to match his boyfriend's rhythm.

 

It's still too slow and that's a torture. He speeds them up, turning them around. Aramis gasps at Porthos' dark eyes, his hands in his hair and the hardening length pressing against his.

 

“You're too quiet, cupcake.”

 

Porthos has been gasping quite a lot, grunting at the feeling of Aramis' cock, so close and yet out of reach, although it twitches at the lone finger tracing its edge. How hot it is even through layers of fabric. Aramis chokes on his breath of air, struggling to resist shouting his desire out loud. Porthos does it again and then he is the one cursing at his boyfriend palming his crotch, rubbing forcefully.

 

“I don't want.... anyone to hear us. I'm not so sure....about these walls,” Aramis manages to explain, his mind slowly surrendering to all the passion Porthos bestows upon him. The feeling of his bare ass against Aramis' hands. The sensation of Porthos' balls and the louder curse in the heavy atmosphere.

 

“But I want you to talk, 'mis. I _need_ you to talk.”

 

Porthos lives for his boyfriend's wonderful yet dirty mouth. The more the better. And all the pretty noises he starts making when he's almost too far gone. Others be damned. Whoever they are. Mati has never hinted that strange things might be happening in their bedroom at home so he's likely never heard them. And Anne said she didn't want her son to come ask for her at night if she didn't stay with him. She's probably been asleep for quite some time. She did say she was exhausted.

 

That's where Porthos is unfortunately wrong. Anne is wide awake, Mati flushed by her side, blissfully sleeping and dreaming. It's a good thing the boy is a heavy sleeper that not even a hurricane could wake up. The walls are indeed rather thin. Laughter and banter coming from the men were comforting. It was all muffled, too much for her to make sense of the conversation. Only some words reach her.

 

Except the words are soon replaced by unmistakable noises that she finds she can't stop listening to.

 

Gasps and moans and the occasional swear words. Porthos' intense voice and she has almost no difficulty picturing what's happening behind her, behind the wall. Anne feels a rush of heat pass throughout her body, from her toes to her crimson face. It's hotter to hear and not see than to be in the room with them. She thinks.

 

She's certain she won't resist the actual thing. She wants to see it. She wants to be a part of it. It takes everything in her power not to spring out of the bed and open the door. It might ruin everything.

 

Aramis makes the most magical grunt when he comes. It rings so clear in her ears that she's positive she could stand under cold water for hours and it wouldn't calm her down. It takes her forever to fall asleep. But when she does, she's blessed with fantastic dreams. It would almost make her want to fast-forward to the following night, to see if she is brave enough to act on what she so deeply desires.

 

No matter how thrilling it is, and how she eyes the men in the morning, with their fresh and energised faces, ready to spend a fun day, Anne can't overlook the excitement pouring out of their son. He's the best distraction.

 

Squeaking any time he sees reproductions of characters he likes in shop windows, on posters or on the walls of many buildings. It's difficult to make up his mind what he wants to do. He shrills so loud the moment he's spotted the actual and real Cinderella close to the castle. His mother thanks her good sense for having put on trainers as he drags her forward.

 

His father and Porthos lazily follow, their arms linked. Never more than two feet away from one another. Aramis is still enchanted by Porthos' declaration and the subsequent loving. It reassures him of things he knows in his heart anyway. It gives him wings and strength to endure the hordes of screaming children, the long queues and the chirpy yet quickly annoying music all around them. He's glad for the hour they both escape to go on grown-up rollercoasters before meeting Anne and Mati back for lunch.

 

The men are radiant even when they simply hold hands and Anne silently applauds how they make their way in the world, indifferent to what others may think. It makes Anne scowl once or twice to overhear stupid comments about them, about how they shouldn't flaunt _this_ in front of children. Comments which are out of place, which would never occur if she was the one holding Porthos' hand. It annoys her that people could be so unsensitive whereas Mati is only adoribly happy to have the men back so he can tell them everything about the Pinocchio ride they visited. And how he took a picture with Mickey Mouse. He's extremely proud of it, showing off the framed photograph, forgetting all about his hot-dog.

 

So his mother can forget about people's ignorance as well. Much like Aramis and Porthos are doing. Because Anne is certain they can't be oblivious to the side remarks. They've told her in the past they were used to it but it nonetheless pains her. As long as their love is accepted by their closest friends and family, the rest doesn't matter.

 

Anne still finds time to kiss them both at one point, stealing some of their joy and carefree hunger for fun for herself. And also because they're here with her and it's the best and they can be as affectionate with each other as they want, even in public. Aramis' hand is hot in hers as he flings their arms high in the air for the sake of hearing her laugh. It's a date even with the child interrupting every few seconds.

 

It turns into a better one after Porthos has frowned at the crazy attraction where the elevator cage drops from such a ridiculous height that he's certain he'd throw up, and he's volunteered to do some other stuff with Mati while Aramis and Anne go defy gravity.

 

Together, Porthos and the boy ride a train to see some of the studios nearby. They fly on magic carpets like Aladdin. Porthos feels like a giant among all the children but Mati adores it. He adores urging his stepfather to hurry up to see the cars and the rusty truck from _Cars_ , choosing to ignore that he could slow down and take his time. They have one more day in the park.

 

On the other hand, Porthos adores how much he's grown into his role. So much that he can totally think of himself as a father, similar to the dozens roaming the park alongside him. To be alone with the child for hours and not doubt himself or worry that something could go wrong. He even mentally high-fives himself after he's convinced Mati to wait for his parents to eat some snacks. He's managed that without having to stand to any tantrum and _that_ 's a feat.

 

To divert the child's attention, they go into a large store, since Mati has some birthday money he's been allowed to spend inside the park. So many choices. So many colors and costumes and toys and plushed animals that he's a bit clueless which one deserves to come home with him. Porthos trails behind, hands deep in his pockets, never taking his eyes off him.

 

“Porfos! I want that!” Mati exclaims, pointing at the biggest box he could find and the state-of-the-art Buzz Lightyear inside. There's only one problem with it.

 

“This looks super cool, buddy. But look at the numbers. It's way over the money that you have.”

 

“Add more! …...Please.”

 

“We've already bought you a toy on Thursday and we're here as a bigger present. I'm not giving you more money. I'm sure they have a smaller Buzz if we ask.”

 

“I don't want another! I want this one! It has a remote!”

 

Mati stomps his little foot and this is a tantrum Porthos can't escape. If only Aramis or Anne were here. They know how to put an end to those almost instantly. Porthos breathes out, tries not to be fooled by the pouting and the mighty grip the boy has on the box.

 

“Mati...., I'm not getting you this one. It's too expensive. And it's not like you can't have anything. You can have something, whatever you'd like, as long as the first number is a 1, a 2, a 3 or a 4. Let's find something else. Come on.”

 

Firm and unflinching, like he's witnessed the others do. Calm and clear. A good explanation. Except it's not working. Not this time. Not with him.

 

“No! You're mean!”

 

“Mati!” He sort of roars, ready to leave the store empty-handed to teach the boy a lesson. His parents won't be pleased. “That's no way to talk. Let's go.”

 

Porthos makes to grab the small hand and does so, wrestling an infuriated Mati. It'd be easier to just give in, to buy the toy. It'd spare him the embarassment of people looking at them. It's nothing compared to what Anne's wrath could be. There's been too much action for the day and Mati is tired and some fresh air away from toys is what he needs. The store was a bad idea. In a few minutes, they'll both have calmed down.

 

“I want Papá! Papá will buy me Buzz!” _That's unlikely_ , Porthos thinks, but doesn't say. “I want Papá!”

 

“They'll be back soon, yeah.”

 

“I want Papá now! And Mamá!”

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

The second he hears the question, Porthos stills, knowing there is one. And it doesn't involve toys of any sorts. He stares at the security guard with cold eyes, feeling as if he's been drenched by freezing water. He hates how the man looks from him to the child still a bit wriggling to get free. Mati has stopped shouting, though, uneasy about the stranger.

 

“None whatsoever. Thank you.”

 

“Where are your parents, buddy?” The guard asks instead, squinting at Porthos. Mati looks up at him too at the question. Bless this tiny boy.

 

Porthos' blood boils in his veins, loathing the situation. At least thankful for Mati who has ceased moving to huddle closer. The old Porthos wants to react to the obvious insult and disrespect angrily. Because the guard has no right to question his business with the child or their relationship. He has no right to assume what Porthos is sure must be on his mind. But he has no power at all and if he's mad, it's at himself to be at the mercy of this idiot in uniform.

 

“I'm his stepfather. We're good. Just arguing about toys.”

 

The man narrows his eyes.

 

“I'm going to need some proof of that.”

 

“Some...What the f....Why would I do that? He's my stepson. His parents are over there.”

 

“That's what you're telling me. He sounded rather opposed to following you.”

 

“That's because I wouldn't buy him that freaking toy. Jesus fucking Christ! Hold on.”

 

Porthos is furious now, never so humiliated in his life and Mati's shocked face at the swearing doesn't help his problems. There's nothing much Porthos could do. He hates how the guard is ready to pick up his talkie. Luckily, Aramis answers his phone rapidly.

 

“We're just getting out! Wow! I think you made the right choice not coming!” _As if_ , Porthos thinks. “I don't think I'll eat anything tonight.”

 

“You need to come to the store right now.”

 

“Anne wanted to go to the restroom first but after...”

 

“Now, Aramis.”

 

His boyfriend catches the distress and urgency in Porthos' tone, the mumbling pieces of information he's given on the phone and he's in the security guard's face so fast that Porthos hardly has time to try to reason with him. Not that it would be of any use. If Mati is gripping his hand now, it's because he's a little afraid too.

 

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Aramis growls, furious eyes and furious stance, standing in front of Porthos. “This is my boyfriend and this is my son and you've just ruined a perfect day with your fucking bullshit!”

 

Mati tugs on Porthos' sleeve.

 

“Papá swear _ed_ twice.”

 

“I know, kiddo.”

 

Porthos hauls him up in his arms, their previous dispute forgotten. Holding the boy lessens the shaking in his bones. He's _so_ angry. So disappointed with humanity and absolutely useless. Needing Aramis to protect him. And for what? Because Mati and him look nothing alike? Porthos hates the world right now.

 

“I don't care what you think you saw!” Aramis interrupts the guard. He's snarling, attracting attention, fumbling until he encounters Porthos' jacket behind him and grips it, never looking away from the target of his rage. “You have no right to assume my boyfriend would be anything less than a loving and caring parent. No right! What is wrong with you?”

 

“Sir, I was only...”

 

“What? Seeing him with a fussing child and assuming the worst? Because he's b....”

 

“I want to speak with your boss.”

 

Anne has appeared calmly next to Aramis. Poised and cold. Miles away from the Anne Porthos has gotten to know better. One hand on Aramis' arm, solid. Her voice freezing the entire conversation. The guard does flinch at the authority dripping from her words.

 

“He's on the other side of the park, ma'am.”

 

“I wasn't asking.”

 

“But, ma'am.....”

 

“You've just insulted my entire family. Your boss. Here. Now.”

 

“.....yes, ma'am.”

 

She doesn't take her eyes off the guard until he's assured her that someone was coming their way. There are things you can't refuse Anne when you've attacked the people she loves.

 

She turns on her heels afterwards, going for Porthos' waist, kissing him on the mouth. Feeling that she could say she loves him too, to comfort him, exactly like Aramis is doing. They _are_ attracting attention this time but it's the least of their concerns. The guard has apologized a couple of times and yet that's not enough compared to how Porthos has been treated. Especially since Mati is more than confused by it all.

 

It's nice to the surrounded by both her and Aramis, to listen to their kind words reminding Porthos of what he means to them. Anne is tiny yet she mends his resentment. It's amazing that she would stand up so fiercely for him. That they both would. Porthos can have no doubt that they _both_ love him. It softens the blow to his ego. Mati's arms clinging to his neck do as well.

 

Watching Anne put the head of security in his place and teaching everyone some respect is priceless. She's as extraordinary as Aramis has always claimed.

 

“Have you ever heard of adoption?” she snaps, fed up with the guard's pathetic explanation. “Are you going to ask every single parent in the park if their children belong to them? Go on. I'm waiting.”

 

“I didn't mean...”

 

“Then you shouldn't have. This man is as much my child's father as his actual one. And I could sue for what you just did.”

 

Porthos notices the ghost of fear on the men's faces and he stands up taller, glad for Aramis' hand on his back. Proud of Anne for owning the moment in spite of what triggered it.

 

“I won't though,” she decides. “Because I don't go making people's life harder simply because I feel like I should have some power over them. I'm teaching my son tolerance and acceptance of everyone, regardless of how they look or who they are.”

 

“Which you could clearly try, too,” Aramis has to cheekily chime in, eyes throwing daggers.

 

They wave off the excuse of protocole and the security rules and how the guard couldn't know that their family arrangement was different from the norm. Anne handles it much better than Aramis who is clearly ready to insult anyone who comes at his boyfriend. She refuses the attempts at giving them store credit for Mati, at offering them an extended stay to their trip. She does smirk when she refuses to be upgraded to a better hotel after she's explained they're already staying for the week-end. Their hotel is the best and as she points at it sarcastically, Aramis almost believes that he could see their rooms even from where he stands.

 

Material offerings won't dampen the awfulness of what they've subjected Porthos and Mati to and Anne won't have the strangers ruin the rest of their family vacation. No matter their job or how important they are to the park. She's polite enough as she waves them good bye but that's it. Sometimes, she wishes she could blatantly insult stupid people.

 

“What a bunch of fucking, stupid, idiot people,” Aramis says the second the guards have scampered away from Anne's icy appearance. She's not even tense from the fight. They deserved it. Porthos tries to breathe out normally. He doesn't want to have fun anymore. Not for quite some time. He wants to be somewhere private without a crowd around him. He wants to be with people he trusts. It's not all about him, though and it wouldn't be fair to Mati. It wouldn't be fair to Aramis who seems the most upset of them all.

 

“Shit happens, 'mis.”

 

“Not that sort of shit, Porthos! No! You're a wonderful man and no one has the right to do this to you.”

 

“It's a change from people saying that we're gross and unatural,” he tries to joke, only to outrage Aramis further. He's looking for relief any way he can. He wants to save the day for the others. It's useless to dwell on it now that they're safe. The four of them. Porthos can do that by himself, preferably with Aramis in his arms, but what he doesn't want is to keep talking about it. It'd only exasperate him more.

 

Mati quietly remarks on the curses, never letting go of his stepfather and the subsequent money buys him his snack.

 

“I'm sorry, Porthos.”

 

How adorable Anne is to be the one apologizing. How lucky he is that they love and value him and he's found more people to have his back in tight spots. This is a new one, though, one that caught them all off guard and Porthos welcomes the hot chocolate in the cozy café-like place they've found to rest.

 

“No need. You were amazing.”

 

“We shouldn't have had to. That's the point.”

 

She's giving him as much, if not more, attention as her son. She's eager to soothe the frown and dissipate the shadow in his eyes. Kisses and hugs can do that. Be it in public. Porthos breathes in her shampoo and how she doesn't hesitate to launch herself at him, not stepping away until he's laughing heartily again. He's still shivering and it's not because the air is chilly. It's not.

 

Aramis and her have found the most spectacular man and she'll fight the world so they can see Porthos for the great human being that he is. A tremendous friend, a loving boyfriend, an adoring father.

 

Stars sparkle in Porthos' eyes when eventually, after he's been sketchily explained what's just happened and why Porthos needs to eat chocolate cake to get better, Mati randomly says that he loves him. And kisses Porthos' cheek soundly.

 


	14. The Fireworks

It's quieter in their hotel room, without the crowd. Away from screams and music. It's silent, mostly, a much deserved break in the aftermath of the confrontation with the secuity guards. Mati needed to rest after all, if he wants to see the fireworks in the evening, so no one has any intention of going back out before then.

 

Porthos is grateful for it. The incident is in all of their minds yet nobody talks about it. Aramis is snuggled in his boyfriend's arms, sprawled that they are on Anne's bed. His head on Porthos' chest, one arm hugging his waist tightly. If he says something, it's to tell his boyfriend that he loves him. Or to praise Porthos in any way he can think of. His extraordinary qualities or how pretty he is. All the small things that Aramis sees and which make him constantly fall back in love with Porthos.

 

It helps him, too. To list it all. To try to forget the abject humiliation at the store. Aramis also needs the time to unwind and stop hating the world. How can someone look at Porthos and imagine for a second that he could be a threat? It makes no sense to him. Porthos is fantastic and adorable. Aramis keeps on kissing his neck, expecting no answer. The hand rubbing his back does so rather strongly now so it's another proof that Porthos is recovering.

 

Mati hasn't complained about toys for a while and Porthos has no intention of telling his parents about the loud scene he made in the store. It's irrelevant in the wake of how he's been insulted. They're all making it better with each passing minute and it's what matters. Aramis' determined words and his soft lips. Mati's background voice while he plays with a puzzle on the fluffy carpet, narrating the story he's piecing together. Anne's kind eyes and smile whenever she looks up to the men from her spot next to her son.

 

The long blond hair draped on her shoulder, locks brushing her cheek and the long earring dangling against her neck whenever she moves. The top letting white skin shine on her other shoulder and how she constantly has to put it back in place. It's no use. It makes Porthos chuckle and that's such a refreshing sound that Anne smiles more widely.

 

She hands some more pieces to Mati before accepting the silent invitation to join them. It's warm and safe under Porthos' second arm, the weight of her legs on his. It all clicks after that. Without a word, without needing an explanation.

 

“We could have dinner in here,” she suggests when the old-fashioned clock in the room strikes. Porthos shakes his head. That's not the plan. He's not disturbing everything. It's not his weekend.

 

“It's fine. I'm fine. Better. You're both the best.”

 

Two sweet grins look up at him. Blue eyes on one side and Aramis' crinkles on the other. It would be overwhelming if his heart wasn't completely at ease. Which it actually is. They're safe and they're good together. Porthos doesn't even feel like he'll have to fight to never lose one of them. They're not going to leave anytime soon.

 

Aramis might be the one -must be the one- Anne is special, too. In her own way. She appeases him, she's careful and now he can see it, that she's hungry for love. Now that she's allowed herself to admit it. Hungry for more than just friendship. Hungry for affection and closeness and random acts and proof of love. Porthos doesn't think he can love her like he loves Aramis. They are two different persons despite their common points.

 

It hurts physically, deep inside, to imagine Aramis and him could one day break up. It's a scenario which makes him want to throw up. It's unconceivable. They're a match. Not perfect but always improving.

 

Anne fills something else. The desire to take care of someone lost, too. Someone who's been on the outskirts of her own life for too long. Which is why Porthos wants to include her, her cuteness and her fanciness. To make her whole again. The same way Aramis did it for him. She's attentive and when she's near him, exactly like she is right now, Porthos feels at peace with the world, in spite of how stupid it can be sometimes. Nothing else matters and those two snuggled close to him, they are most certainly what Porthos was always waiting for.

 

They've seen straight through the front that he's built for his entire life. Porthos never minded when Aramis did it. With such easiness that it was meant to be. Anne does it, too, with spectacular tenderness and it makes his heart swell. Porthos is fine.

 

“Besides, it was just one person doing his job,” he tries to reason. “Regardless of how much I hate it.”

 

“It's still not an excuse, sweetie. You're beautiful and you shouldn't have been treated like this. There are other ways to do it.”

 

“Perhaps. But you're still the best, 'mis. And you, too,” he adds for Anne.

 

She straightens up so that her cheek rests on his shoulder. She's holding Aramis' hand. It can be a quiet and unspoken love between them and it's almost enough.

 

“I want to try dinner in this place downstairs, though,” Porthos says. “Maybe we'll see some princesses.”

 

“Princesses?”

 

The puzzle is forgotten in an instant. That's what the adults were promised when they booked their stay. It wouldn't be fair to deprive Mati of it, even though he doesn't yet know he'll actually meet many of his favorite characters in the dining room.

 

The boy hurries to the bed, big expecting eyes looking at his parents. He's grown so tall since the first time Porthos met him but he hasn't lost the awe illuminating his face when he's really impressed.

 

“I want to see Peter Pan,” Aramis mumbles.

 

“Me and Porfos saw Donald! He was speaking weird.”

 

“That was fun, wasn't it? Go get my phone and we'll show mom and Papá.”

 

Mati does as he's told, clutching the device and climbing on the bed to huddle as close as he can to the adults. Porthos would rather count and recall the awesome moments of his time spent alone with the child than brood over the unfortunate incident. He'll overcome what it's making him feel. He already is. He's used to it.

 

The boy stays in his father's arms when they've been shown the pictures and the video. Even Mati remains quiet after that, listening to Aramis and the story he remembers about Donald Duck. Porthos can't help thanking him for telling it in Spanish. The language soothes him, his boyfriend's rich and singing accent wrapping around Porthos and his people.

 

Until the clock strikes again and it really is time to get ready for dinner or they'll miss the show.

 

“Or we'll be late for the fireworks!” Mati specifies, jumping on the bed a little, his mother glad she'd already stood up.

 

“Mati, buddy. Sit back down for a second.”

 

Aramis and Porthos haven't clearly talked about what they wanted for the evening, but anytime one of them mentioned the fireworks for the past hours, he hasn't been able to ignore how Porthos winced. Not because he doesn't like them. On the contrary, he loves them. Maybe as much as the boy does. And he was excited to see them. But the whole thing with the guard has dampened his spirits a little. He would still go for the child, which is why he hasn't stated what he wanted loud and clear. He should have known Aramis would pick up on the little clues nonetheless. Aramis can read him like a book.

 

“Porthos and I aren't coming to the fireworks later, sweetie. You'll go with Mamá, if that's all right with her.” It is.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because Porthos and I want some quiet for the evening instead.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because we're tired and still a bit upset and so we're going to stay here.”

 

“Why are you upset, Papá?”

 

“Because of the man at the store, do you remember? The one who thought Porthos wasn't part of our family?”

 

Mati nods, a finger in his mouth. Aramis goes on.

 

“He thought Porthos wanted to harm you so we're a bit angry about that and we don't want to go back in the park for now. But no worries, we'll go tomorrow again with you.”

 

When they will have slept on it and the rage in Aramis' bones will be gone. He sure hopes they won't run into that security guard again.

 

Against all odds, it's not another why question which comes next. Instead Mati's lip starts quivering and he sucks on his finger even more. His little eyes turn watery and Aramis wonders what's going on in his son's mind. He didn't intend to trigger this particular reaction.

 

“No, no, no, buddy. Mati. It's fine. We can see the fireworks from here, you know! We still love you!”

 

“But, but, but....”

 

“And you'll have Mamá with you. It's okay if we don't always do everything together.”

 

“But, Papá, but....But I love Porfos! You're nice!” Mati finally exclaims, hitting his mother in the chest as he fights his way to a stunned Porthos. Wet fingers cling to his neck. He feels Aramis' hand on Mati's back, rubbing to lessen the sobbing. It has nothing to do with having to leave his fathers behind.

 

Even a sore breast is bearable, Anne decides, helping out so her son will stop crying. Aramis looks at her sheepishly, sorry to have led to this situation but he has no reaosn to. She's excessively proud of their boy and it would almost make her cry a little as well. To understand the harm that has been done to his stepfather and to state out loud what he feels. How can they be upset any longer?

 

“You're nice, Porfos,” Mati hiccups again. “I stay, too.”

 

“Thank you, kiddo. But I want you to go. So afterwards, you can tell me all about it.”

 

“Like a bedtime story?”

 

Mati lets his mother dry some of the tears on his cheek, falling back on Porthos' lap, a tiny fist strong on his tee-shirt.

 

“Yep. And besides, if you don't go, who's going to protect your mom?”

 

Porthos is more than a little overwhelmed by the child's pure innocence and kindness. To be so small and to be so generous. It's not the first time that Mati has done it for Porthos and it will give his heart tremors every single time. If it weren't for the constant fussing Mati does on a daily basis, Porthos would say tht the boy is perfect. He's nurturing great spirits and qualities. Porthos loves him a lot. Much more than he would have ever expected.

 

Anne hits his shoulder playfully, smiling broadly.

 

“I can protect myself, thank you very much!”

 

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

 

Porthos' voice is a tone deeper as he says it and all she can see are his fluttering eyelids before he's kissing her. Sweetly, quickly. A loose grip on Mati and Aramis' body pressed against him. As far as Porthos is concerned, he could skip dinner and the fireworks to just lie there with his cluster for the rest of the night.

 

“I'll protect you, Mamá! I'm strong! Stronger than Porfos!”

 

“But not stronger than me, I'm sure,” Aramis chimes in.

 

“Stronger than Papá, too, yes!”

 

His father scowls, enjoying the new spark of excitement in Mati's eyes which are still shining from his tears. He's exceptional. Sometimes, Aramis is astonished they're managing to raise him so well. It makes him like even the fights over gross food or about tidying his bedroom or the begging whenever they are in a bakery and he won't buy his son candy.

 

“You'll all very strong,” Anne says, laughing because of the banter and how it casts away problems.

 

This isn't a perfect family but at times like now, it looks like it is. The guard said they weren't the norm? Screw the norm, she thinks. These boys, the three of them, they are her life and she's more than ready to fight whoever will claim otherwise.

 

“We're very strong and we're very brave, aren't we?” Porthos asks Mati.

 

“Yes!”

 

“And we're very hungry for dinner, aren't we?”

 

And very much acting like a father, Aramis marvels, Mati squirming to be put down after too many kisses. Porthos is famished and some fresh air will be welcome. This could turn out to be a great evening after all. Mati complaining that he wanted Coke instead of water once they are seated in the restaurant is so normal. A clear evidence that his distress has passed. That most of all their distress is gone.

 

He's a little bothered the men haven't changed their mind about the fireworks, though. Porthos is ready to do a lot for this boy yet he wants and needs his boyfriend to himself for a short while at least. Another perk of having Anne around. No one has to be left behind alone. Porthos doesn't fancy being alone tonight.

 

Sharing the armchair they've dragged to the window is better. They can see the show from there. The pretty colors, the songs, Tinkerbell flying over the castle, the cute sounds as magic powder falls down its front. The lights are beautiful, bathing Aramis' face in yellow and green.

 

His legs dangle from the armrest, his weight awkwardly balanced on Porthos' lap and his cheek cushioned on his boyfriend's shoulder. Fingers repeatedly grazing Porthos' scalp. Smooth and silent. Going down to trace the collar of the blue tee-shirt.

 

Aramis feels Porthos shiver every time he does it. The fireworks are nice, but not as much as Porthos' mouth on his. The heat of his lips and the fresh air breathed in Aramis' open mouth. A breath of relief and fulfillment. A long slow kiss, mingled with the tiny bites and how Porthos tugs on his boyfriend's lip before going back for more. A firm hand on Aramis' waist, playing with the buttons of his shirt. Fingers splayed on Aramis' jeans, massaging a thigh and when Aramis speaks, it's in a rasp.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yeah. Later.”

 

It takes some shuffling to be comfortable in the new position, Aramis straddling his boyfriend. Two hands enclosing Porthos' face like he wants to cherish him forever. He's hardly moving his hips, only resting there, Porthos' hot crotch against his and somehow, it's enough for the time being. After everything, it's enough. There's more to come and Aramis has it in mind to show his boyfriend just how exceptional he is in every aspect of their life.

 

Porthos' hands on his hips do find some toned flesh to grab and rub, and he silences delighted moans with kisses.

 

“It's much better to have you around to deal with that sort of shit,” Porthos says, his cheeks flushed, tilting his head to let Aramis drag his mouth down the side of his neck. Aramis hums his agreement, sighing at the hot hands resting on the bare skin of his lower back. “To have you all.”

 

Aramis hums again, stops worshipping Porthos' skin to stare at him, with dark and resolute eyes.

 

“You're a part of me, Porthos. You've been for quite some time, you know that. You give a whole new meaning to my life and I'm glad I've found you. No one has the right to take that away from us.”

 

“I love you, 'mis.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

“I'm aware it won't make me love you more but I want to sign those papers as soon as we can.”

 

Aramis can't help grinning, showing his happiness. He kisses Porthos again, wraps his arms around his neck, urging for a tigher embrace. He can never be too close to Porthos.

 

“I want to be more than your boyfriend,” Porthos adds. “I mean, it's just a title but yeah.”

 

“You're already much more, sweetie. I wouldn't be able to describe what you are to me with simple words. They wouldn't translate what's in there.”

 

He holds Porthos' hand to his heart, letting him feel how it thuds quickly in Aramis' chest. For him, for the depths of feelings which keep on growing. In the sweetest gesture possible, Aramis boops Porthos' nose, listens to the hoarse laughter then kisses it. Aramis is too much to handle. Porthos is forever thanking people above that they've put this incredible man, boyfriend and more, on his path.

 

An incident? What incident? It's all disappeared thanks to Aramis, his immense love and personality.

 

They are wrapped in each other, whispering nonsense when Anne and Mati come back. A lot of excitement contrasting with Porthos' peace of mind, at last. But it winds down in a couple of minutes until Mati decides that he's too tired to describe the show to his fathers and they'll have to wait for it over breakfast.

 

They are the ones having to read _him_ a story. A couple of pages and he's out, exhausted by the long hours spent walking, waiting, standing on his feet with hardly any rest. Too much euphoria for his small body. Anne finds that she's a bit tired, too. Still a little annoyed at what happened but Porthos seemed better when they came back from the fireworks so she's at least thankful for that. Thankful for Aramis and his endless dedication to his boyfriend. Theirs.

 

She does hesitate to knock on the door after Mati is fast asleep and she's changed into her pjs. What she wants is obvious in her mind. It's been since the previous evening and she overheard the men. The day hasn't shaken her resolve. She simply isn't sure that it'll be welcome by Porthos. That it's what he wants tonight. But if she doesn't dare go, then she'll probably regret it. And if Porthos or Aramis aren't in the mood for that, she'll totally understand. It's been an eventful Saturday. She'd be good with cuddles, too. But more would be better.

 

So Anne musters all her courage to open the door when she hears nothing. It was such a ridiculous tiny knock, showing how nervous she is in spite of what she desires.

 

The men have the best excuse for not answering, though. They're tangled in hot kissing, there is no sign of their shirts and Aramis' hand, even covered by the bedsheets, is what Anne's eyes are drawn to. She's not blushing because she's embarassed. She fights against her instincts to not apologize. She's done nothing wrong.

 

Porthos chokes on his groan, his body reacting to the sudden changes in the room as he stills Aramis. His cock is hard in his boyfriend's grip and it's torture to not stroke it anymore. Aramis doesn't relinquish his hold, though. His shoulders heave, wondering if he should stop everything, but not wanting to. He's hard too, rubbing through his underwear against Porthos' hip.

 

Anne can't say anything either, can't explain herself. It's already better than what she hoped for, better than what she expected. So much skin to gaze at, so many muscles and two very gorgeous faces looking at her. At her wandering eyes and the fists balled by her sides now that she's hastily closed the door. At her parted lips and how red her cheeks are.

 

Aramis gulps and Porthos groans at the tighter grip on his cock, not sure that the sheets are hiding it. Not that she's an idiot. She knows what she's interrupted, what she's slowly walking toward, rounding discarded shoes and a suitcase to stand by the bed. No one has said a word yet but Porthos' cock twitches under her gaze and Aramis pulls on it by reflex.

 

Porthos curses, throws his head back.

 

“Can I stay?” Anne manages to ask, mesmerized.

 

Aramis actually keens at the question. He doesn't have the strength or patience to discuss anything for the time being. She's a big girl, she knows what she wants and they've been waiting for that for so many evenings. He nods. So does Porthos.

 

“I didn't mean to interrupt anything but I did come for that,” she admits, securing loose hair behind her ear.

 

Porthos is trying to breathe like a normal human being but she's so close and he's already aroused and she's tracing the side of his shoulder and then his arm. With Aramis' hand now on his lower stomach, it's a bit much.

 

Even though Anne would love to just sit back and watch what Aramis would have done next, she's desperate for their hands on her. Like they've been many times for the past weeks. Only now on more places. Everywhere on her body. No clothes involved.

 

On the nape of her neck, pulling her down so her mouth collides with Porthos' and he can finally give her the passionate kiss he's been yearning for all day. His tongue in her mouth, fingers grabbing her sensitive skin, perhaps a bit rough. Dizzying. Making her lose her balance.

 

Her hands end up flat on his chest, feeling sweaty skin. Shivering skin. A single touch and Porthos is going insane. Anne moans at Aramis' lips on her shoulder, pulling on her strap so it falls down her arm. And his hand closing on hers to guide her to Porthos' stomach, then to his back, showing her where to touch.

 

She's straddling Porthos' lap, stumbling against him, two massive and scorching hot hands half on her back half on her ass and there's no mistaking the erection she can feel. Anne needs to breathe. To gasp, more like. Her fingers are exploring the dark skin, intoxicated by Aramis' kisses and _his_ fingers playing with her hair. Caressing the nape of her neck, pulling on the second strap. He goes slow, reaching out to kiss Porthos, trapping her between them. There is no better feeling and whatever apprehension she had, she forgets it. It was useless to want to talk before doing anything, to attempt to justify herself. She doesn't need to.

 

They want her as much as she wants them. Perhaps they need her tonight more than any other night.

 

Anne hasn't been so close to naked men in a very long time, though, and it turns her on more quickly than she would have imagined. Porthos' crotch is hot and although he's been trying to stay still, it's no use. She's beautiful in how flushed she is. In his arms and with them. Finally. Her tasty skin, the shudders at his hand moving up and down her side. Her little moans once he dares hith up her tank top and touch her stomach.

 

“You're very hot. Very sexy,” Aramis compliments her, lips to her ear, licking just enough to make her want more. He's hardly realizing that the handjob he was giving Porthos has turned into this. More people to kiss so that's always good in his book.

 

Anne's mouth chases after his and Aramis feels more blood rush to his cock, because she's giving him everything. She's giving _them_ so much. All her trust and her desire and her love. She yelps a little in the kiss at Porthos rocking them backwards so she's lying on the bed. Still enchanted by Aramis' tongue, the way it rubs around hers. How greedy yet thorough. Warm.

 

As warm as Porthos' fingers and lips on her stomach. Anne feels too hot in her clothes, missing the hard length pressed between her legs. She wants it back. She wants Aramis', too. Porthos' kisses to her bare flesh are good, though, how he looks up at her, looks up at Aramis before he dares skim a hand over a clothed breast. Only for a second.

 

A second too long since Anne whimpers, fumbles to grab onto something. Onto Porthos' shoulder when he does it again. A firmer touch. A longer one. It's been so long for him, too, these sensations that he had forgotten about. He bucks his hips, notices how Aramis has gripped his own cock because she is simply too beautiful to handle.

 

“You tell us if it's too much,” Aramis whispers again, kissing her. Knowing that it's too much already but she's squirming, spreading her legs and she won't tell them to stop. She's been waiting too long. Her very own fireworks.

 

Right after she's nodded, lips partly open, Aramis' mouth deserts hers to kiss down her chest. To kiss down her tank top and Anne is pretty positive she sees stars at his hot breath on her breasts, how it closes down on one of them. Two men paying this kind of attention to her at the same time, it's fantastic. Anne is panting, from Porthos' hand and Aramis' mouth. From the caresses on her stomach and from her top beind bunched up until it's out of the way, somewhere on the floor.

 

Porthos is speechless, staring at her, at the reflex move to cover her chest. The one she gives up in a second. Then he smiles, plays with a blond lock stuck on her forehead and she relaxes. Aramis is humming something on her right, looking at her with reverence from his propped position on his elbow. When her eyes travel further down from their dazzling faces, they lock onto their hard-ons. Both of them.

 

“You're doing that to us,” Aramis says quietly, watching her every move. He hopes she won't try to touch hm. He doesn't think he could contain himself if she did.

 

“You seemed to be doing it to each other before I came in.”

 

Her voice sounds different. She sounds like she's no longer inhabiting her own body. That they're making her feel so many things she had forgotten about that she's not herself anymore. She belongs to them and their desires and what she wants from them is powering her.

 

“And we'll show you more later,” Porthos promises in the most compelling and husky tone Anne has heard so far. “But first, I want to make _you_ feel good. You're so beautiful.”

 

He wants to kiss all of this newly exposed skin. Her enticing breasts and when he grazes the curve of one with his nail, Anne shivers. It's too inviting and exhilirating. Her hand in his hair once he's sucking on her breast, swirling his tongue, desperate to be touched, too. Porthos has been greatly awaiting this. Anne is prettier than he anticipated, which he didn't believe possible, given all the times he's dreamt about that moment.

 

Her reactions are fabulous. All these moans, even when Aramis is kissing her. Aramis can't get enough of this. He knows from experience how fantastic it is to have Porthos toy with nipples. So much that he can feel what Anne is currently feeling.

 

Kissing her becomes an impossible task under Porthos' attentions. She's whimpering too much for that. Writhing under the mouth abandoning her breasts to kiss lower. It's a hypnotizing sight for Aramis who's stroking his cock, amazed that Porthos could resist doing the same. He wants to lick her stomach, too. He wants to touch her so he does, kneading already sensitive breasts.

 

Anne curses adoribly. Then swears again at the hands trailing down the long silky pants. So close to where she so desperately wants to be touched. They are too good to her. There's not even a second of hesitation when she raises her hips and not a word is needed. Porthos will wonder later if she had packed extra sexy underwear in case such an occasion presented itself. Either way, he loves it. He loves the black lace and the stark contrast of the fabric on her skin.

 

He loves how she bucks her hips when he touches the lace lightly. A tiny touch which makes her moan.

 

“Fuck,” Porthos curses in her hair, rubbing again, back and forth, lost for words and aiming for her lips instead.

 

She's so soft literally everywhere and to see Porthos touch her, it almost makes Aramis come on the spot. His cock does leak, sticky fingers groping for Porthos to offer some much needed relief. Only for Porthos to shake his head. He can wait. He thinks he can. He's getting drunk on Anne and all her noises. How much she's enjoying their caresses. How she practically begs for more, even if their names are the only words she can utter.

 

A splendid mix while she has no idea what to do with her hands. One is gripping the comforter, the other still holding on to Porthos' neck. She wants to keep her eyes open. She wants to see what they are doing to her.

 

Aramis' gentle teeth gliding on her skin, the tip of his tongue on her breasts. Small laps and long sucks and she moans loudly, bucks her hips again at the fingernails on her underwear. At the fingers pushing it aside.

 

“Fuck, Anne. You're so wet. 'mis....”

 

Different fingers touching her. Different heats and different feelings. Anne can't handle them both touching her there. She's been excited ever since entering the room but this is reaching another level.

 

Aramis can's resist it: he has to kiss Porthos while he keeps on rubbing between her legs, too far gone to stop anything. He grazes the skin of her thigh, the skin of her lower stomach, watches with hungry eyes Porthos helping her out of the lacy underwear until she's totally naked and she's never been more beautiful. She's never felt so exposed and yet so safe at the same time. And finally, finally, they're looking at her like they look at each other when they're thinking about sex. Except she's with them and they're doing it with her.

 

No questions, no apprehension. Only three people creating something wonderful together.

 

Porthos' fingers are as wet from her as they can, nails shining, testing where she likes being touched the most. He's doing so blindly, his forehead on the bed by her shoulder, her sharp breathing in his ear. It turns to pleased groans once he finds her clit, plays with it. Gently at first but more roughly as she starts whimpering a lot more. His body is on fire, too. He does want Aramis to touch him. He wants Aramis to make him come and he wants Anne to see it. Porthos wants to come looking at her. Now that he can.

 

Anne first, though. And she's loving this so much, biting her lip to keep from shouting too loud. His fingers are magical. Magically efficient. There's fire coiling in her stomach, swirling under her skin, her heavy breasts and Aramis' tongue on her collarbone, entrusting every inch of her naked body to his memory.

 

Be it with his mouth or his fingers. He takes her by surprise even though that's what she was waiting for and Anne does shout out loud, a finger pressing inside of her. So slick and so aroused that when Aramis adds a second one, fingering her and looking straight at her while he does so, with lusty eyes and his breath washing over her, she can't fight it.

 

It feels like her body is shattering from the inside out, a pleasant hot pain in her guts expanding everywhere in her bones, filling her with spectacular warmth and such a pure ecstasy that she doesn't realize she's gripped Porthos' shoulder so fiercely her nails have scrapped the skin. There are white spots behind her eyelids and she's certain she could have a second, as powerful orgasm, when she can focus again and Aramis is holding his fingers to Porthos' mouth so he can kiss them.

 

The men are grinning a little, still very much hard, kissing her in turn. It takes a few minutes, Anne believes, before she can realize what's just happened and how well she feels in their arms. Shuddering a little until there's a light sheet spread on her and it's a bit better.

 

“We didn't disappoint, did we?”

 

“I know you wouldn't.” It's a gasp, floating that Anne is in the pleasure she's been yearning for for so long. They're hot. Giving her tiny pecks on the mouth, on her cheeks, on her temples. “I heard you last night.”

 

Their faces are a sight to behold. She chuckles, lazily rubbing Aramis' shoulder. Feeling rather bold now that she's truly welcome in every part of their life. And this is probably the best. She wants more.

 

“You made some cute noises when you came, Aramis.”

 

It's an unexpected confession, the ramifications flooding Aramis' mind and with what they've just done, how she's touching him, naked next to him and Porthos' cock so hard mere inches away, Aramis lets go. He comes on the hand he was casually stroking his cock with. It's a long, guttural sound and his entire body shudders under the force of it. Because both Anne and Porthos are watching and it's giving him ideas for next time.

 

“Cute noises indeed,” Porthos jokes, rubbing his nose against Anne's cheek. His heartbeat is wild, unable to cope with the marvelous sight of both his boyfriend and her girlfriend with him in bed. Anne giggles. A great evening. Absolutely. A nice dream which has finally come true.

 

Aramis can't think of a clever come-back. He doesn't want to. Instead, he racks his eyes up and down Porthos' body, a mischievous sparkle in them. There's something else he's been intending to taste tonight so he acts on it. He finds some strength to hoist himself up, to scramble to his boyfriend and lie him down on his back.

 

Losing no time given the sex they've just had, Aramis licks his lips, caresses Porthos' cock and licks its entire length. Stopping to suck on the tip before he swallows it all.

 

His ears fill with curses, Porthos pushing his hips up to match the fast rhythm of his boyfriend's mouth and his tongue curling around his cock. Anne is transfixed by something she's never witnessed before, something she never realized someone could enjoy doing as much as Aramis is. She can't look away. Aramis' beard scratching the tender skin, the flash of white teeth and the show he makes of sucking Porthos' cock as thoroughly and vigorously as he can. They're turning her on again faster than she supposed possible.

 

Aramis' mouth on Porthos' balls and the hot breath on his wet skin. The little noises and how he strokes and his thumb brushing the cockhead. The hand coming higher to grab Porthos' and the hot come in Aramis' mouth after a couple more laps. He purrs and swallows it, aroused too by Anne's gaze on him. How much better it is to do this with an audience, more than he imagined. This is going to be the best.

 

How speechless Anne is. They're turning her to mush. They're all a mess, though, snuggling in spite of how sweaty they are. Using a blanket in spite of how warm they already are. But Anne has never felt better in her life and that's only the beginning. They're hardly talking, except to make sure that she is staying a little more and not going back to her bed too soon. Kissing and touching because now that they've started, they can't stop.

 

Anne is certain this is only the start of something even more extraordinary. They'll always transform bad days into spectacular ones. They've done so with her life once. They'll do it again.

 


	15. The Dads (1)

After their night at Disneyland and this new explosion of feelings inside her heart and mind, Anne would have expected it to be the only thing in her thoughts. Sex. Being touched and kissed and being naked with her boyfriends and everything being so natural. So it _is_ on her mind, it's unavoidable. When she thinks back on it, she ogled quite a lot during these hours in their hotel room.

 

She stared and she explored and she tasted and there are enough images stored in her memory to fuel delectable dreams. But it was also exceptionally relaxing to simply be held in warm arms, to feel cherished by Porthos and Aramis alike. To be a small part of them. To talk quietly, to brush hair, to trace scars and hear stories she had never been told about before. To cuddle for a very long time with nothing troubling them because their new intimacy cast out all the negativity of the day.

 

To gaze at an exhausted Porthos and the way he scrunched his nose even in his sleep. How peaceful his breathing was and the cute noises he made when Anne slid out from their embrace to go back to her own bed. How Aramis replaced her quickly so as not to leave Porthos hugging thin air.

 

A perfect balance of heat and calm which certainly explains how relaxed Anne is when she comes to their appartment a few days later. Eager to see them again, eager to spend most of the extremely long weekend with her family and the men's friends. Of course, she can't help looking forward to the nights as well, but their faces on that Thursday afternoon just make her feel like she's finally achieved whatever she was looking for in life.

 

They are comfortable around one another, like they've always been, kissing lightly as far as greetings are concerned. Aramis never reaching for more than her cheek. Anne thought she'd be intoxicated by them. Their care and their devotion. She sees those in their eyes except they carry deeper than mere physical attraction. Anne is glad she acted on what she desired. Life will be better now. It seems that it's what it's always been doing for the past month. She doesn't regret a single one of her decisions.

 

What she midly regrets is that Aramis is allergic to cats and thus can't accompany Mati to the birthday party he's been invited to. The invitation was quite clear about the pets, which Aramis is actually grateful for. It falls upon Porthos to go with the boy, which is slightly terrifying in itself (for him and him alone) and the reason why Anne has been called as reinforcements. How they'll behave among other parents, he has no idea. They'll behave like parents, Anne reassures him, excited to take Porthos to _his_ first children's birthday party. It's almost a date and although she prefers when both of the men are with her, she holds Porthos' hand in the elevator to the penthouse anyway.

 

Anne is positive she fell for the men as a couple. An entity that she sometimes has trouble differentiating. She's learning.

 

Learning to love Porthos for the funny character that he is. The charmer that he is, quite at ease with the mothers in a living room as large as half of Anne's own appartment. He was afraid they would have nothing to talk about, him and the other parents. That he would stand in the background watching nannies entertain the kids. That he would only be able to justify his presence by the fact that Mati was in his custody for the week and that his actual father recoils whenever he sees a feline.

 

Porthos turns out to be partly wrong. He does get to watch Mati play with his friends, which is amusing and a bit overbearing on his hearing. But Anne is always close by, daring enough to touch his arm or his hand while they all sit on the side, drinking fantastic cocktails. And beer. And eating candy they've scavenged from the snack table. Anne is happy to talk motherhood and after-school activities and the best brands for organic food and fair-trade clothing. This is a bit boring for Porthos.

 

Her hand on his back, timidly sneaking to rest there as they watch Mati's friend open his presents is magical, though. So satisfying. He gratifies her with a terrific smile and kisses her cheek without thinking twice about it. She likes him, perhaps more after their previous weekend and she's finally relaxed enough around him. There is hardly any apprehension in her heart anymore.

 

Mati is happy with them both with him, elated to be with many of his friends and to have cats to pet. To torture. And fish to feed. This is the best. Maybe his parents would agree to buy him one. Even if _his_ birthday was the week before. Maybe he should go and ask them right away. He can't see his mother anymore but Porfos is easily spotted with some other men by the counter in the dining room.

 

They're watching TV, though, football, Mati thinks and if he wanders over there, someone else will start playing with his toy soldiers and that won't do. Ra _f_ aël wanted that horse for himself and Mati won't let him have it. He's the Captain of their army. These are excellent toys and he'll have to ask for some of those, too.

 

For the time being, then, he tries to remember that he'll have to ask for at least two fish so they don't get lonely, and he returns to focusing on his host's instructions for the game. Mati loves spending afternoons playing. They should only do this at school, too. This and sports and watching movies. Yes, that would be better.

 

“Matie, darling, where's your sweater?”

 

His mother is back, crouching and frowning at the light tee-shirt. The boy shrugs, doesn't even look up.

 

“He gave it to your husband because he said he was too hot,” the au-pair supplies with that thick accent that Mati actually understands better than most of the other children.

 

Anne starts a bit at the girl calling Porthos her husband but it may be how they look to the outsiders in the appartment. They haven't felt the need to explain themselves. The parents know who they are from the many mornings and afternoons in front of the school, although they are never there together.

 

Porthos will never be that, though, that's not a spot she wants him to fill. It belongs to Aramis, if they ever wish for it. And yet her heart rejoices a little, making her smile grow. He may never bear such a title, Porthos bears many qualities which go with it. He makes her tremendously radiant and happy to be alive.

 

Even when he gives her a sheepish look once she comes looking for her son's clothes.

 

“Is that your dad?” a boy Mati doesn't quite know asks, pointing in the adults' direction. He's a cousin. A couple of years older than everybody else. He wears a bowtie which looks uncomfortable. Mati wipes his head back and nods, making the toy horse move forward.

 

“Yes. It's Porfos. He's my second dad.”

 

“How can you have two dads? You can't have two dads.”

 

“Yes, I can. I have Papá who made me and I have Porfos. He lives with us.”

 

“You can't have two dads,” the stubborn kid repeats. “You have _one_ mom and _one_ dad.”

 

“I have Mamá, she's over there. And I have Papá and Porfos. He's my Papá's boyfriend.”

 

“So he's not your real dad.”

 

“My dad has a new girlfriend, too,” another boy says. “She gives me chocolate and video games. Sometimes she sleeps at home. I prefer my mom, though.”

 

“See?” the cousin states trimphantly, looking at Mati as if he's just lost a significant debate. “He's not an actual dad. You can't have two dads anyway. Everybody has a mom and a dad. Even Superman has a mom and a dad. And he's an alien.”

 

He stresses it as if it's the most important argument, one worthy of ending the discussion. He effectively goes back to his toy cart and his toy motorcycle, leaving Mati a little dumbfounded and perplex.

 

Porfos isn't an alien, of that he's fairly sure and neither he is. Neither are his mother or his father. But Papá said that Porfos was his dad a couple of times. So he must be. Surely, his Papá can't be wrong? He's so clever. He writes books. And they are the same family so....And Mati loves Porfos. He loves when they dance and they make breaskfast and they play hard videogame levels. Maybe Porfos is just a friend then? Like Ra _f_ aël and Augustin and the other boys? Can friends live together, though?

 

He wouldn't sleep with Papá if they were just friends. Parents sleep in the same room. Except his Mamá. His Mamá doesn't really sleep with Papá, except for cuddles in the morning.

 

Too many confusing thoughts for his little mind to handle at present so Mati decides to ignore it for the time being. He still likes Porfos' laughter regardless of who he is to him. And Augustin's cousin isn't old enough to be an adult and know everything. Mati doesn't even know him. Maybe he's lying to be mean.

 

He still likes Porfos coming to hand him the discarded sweater and to whisper that his mother will be mad if he doesn't put it on. Mati doesn't enjoy being helped to do so. He _loves_ the sweets Porfos smuggles him when he's finished.

 

Mati likes Porfos very much. When he grins, it stretches that impressive scar over his eye. Maybe Porfos is actually a pirate? Mati never thought about asking that before. A pirate not living on a ship like on TV? That's weird. And working in a gym?

 

He'll add it to the growing list of things to ask his father. Because for now there's cake to be eaten and Coca-Cola to be drunk. Top priority.

 

Porthos' status is the only question Mati remembers later in the evening once they are back at home. He's a bit tired, not too hungry after too much sugar. Already in his pjs, like Porthos and Anne since they've all had to shower upon their return. Aramis sneezed in his boyfriend's face because of cat hair, his nose wouldn't stop running and his skin was starting to itch. In only a few minutes.

 

Anne is slowly starting to love being able to borrow Porthos' hoodies more than Aramis' tee-shirts. She's nevertheless wearing one under the gigantic clothes and the sleeves she's had to roll twice to use her hands properly.

 

“Porfos?” Mati asks, deciding a couple of bites from his food are enough. His tummy kind of hurts.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Are you a pirate?”

 

Aramis laughs out loud, spitting water in his plate. His son looks serious, big wondering eyes staring at his stepfather. Anne dabs her napkin over the mess he's just made.

 

“Why would you think so?” It's an adorable question.

 

“Because of your scar, right there. Did a pirate hurt you in a fight with swords? Do you have swords like Papá?”

 

“I don't, buddy.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“And I'm not a pirate. I got this defending my friend Alice from bad guys. In the middle of a street. No ships and no treasures involved, I'm afraid.”

 

“Oh.” There goes his theory. “Are you an alien? Like S _ou_ perman?”

 

This time, Aramis chokes on his piece of bread and Anne rolls her eyes. He should be used to their child's cuteness by now. Not that she isn't amused herself. Mati is precious, legs banging against his chair, his elbows on the table now that he's pushed his plate away.

 

“ I don't seem to have any super powers that I know of, kiddo. So I doubt it.”

 

“You're very strong!”

 

“But I can't fly, can I?”

 

“.....no.” Here goes some of the explanation of Augustin's cousin, too.

 

“But I play spectacular football?” Porthos hazards, cocking his head, letting Mati decides if that is worthy of being a great power.

 

It is. It leads to the boy wondering if they'll get to play some over the weekend. Certainly, since Athos' estate is enormous, with a lot of green. And there will be new friends, Athos' nephews coming there with their parents. A big, friendly gathering that Anne is a little apprehensive about. It's the only problem clouding her mind.

 

For the rest, it couldn't be better. Clearing the table, helping Porthos with the dishes while Aramis assists Mati in packing his suitcase for the next three days. Letting hands brush and marveling at the boy's endless imagination. How adorable he is. How he's adapted so rapidly to their new family arrangement. If it could be the same for everyone....

 

“Porthos?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I have a question.”

 

“I'm not a knight or a dragon-slayer either,” he replies cheekily. Anne's laughter echoes in the kitchen.

 

“I'm really happy I've been invited, too,” she says instead. “But it's still the same issue I had a couple of weeks ago. How am I going? I mean...am I your friend or....I don't want to ruin the weekend.”

 

“Why would you?”

 

“If they don't...approve of us.”

 

“They don't have to.” He shakes his head fiercely. “They may be my friends, the best I have, it's my life. Sure, I'll feel more comfortable if they don't look disgusted or fight me on it, but their opinion doesn't really matter. And _I_ 'll be the one fighting if they make _you_ feel miserable.”

 

He hastily dries his hands to reach out and give her a hug. This is a safe spot. Cozy and smelling delicious. Dissipating troubles.

 

“Does that mean you're okay with them knowing then?”

 

She wouldn't have phrased her questions like this otherwise. Anne exhales a shuddering breath against his chest and grabs his tee-shirt with both fists.

 

“Yes. I won't be able to spend three days around you and act like I'm just Mati's mother. Not now. I like you a lot, you and Aramis, and sometimes, I _need_ to be close _.”_

 

Porthos smiles in her hair, kisses it. He pulls back to gaze at her resolute eyes. She was close during the birthday party, she was incredibly so on their second day at Disneyland. Whether it's a result of their intimacy, whether it'll subside to go back to normal or it'll last and intensify, Porthos doesn't know. He doesn't care. What matters is that she is confident and determined in what she wants.

 

“Sometimes, we need it, too.”

 

“And sometimes, I'm good just talking. Nothing more. Knowing you want me regardless, but this I've known for quite some time.”

 

“Aramis taught me that was the best kind of relationship you could hope for. I used to only look for physical attention before, you know that.”

 

“Sex, yes. You can call it what it is.”

 

So comfortable she is going all smartass on him. Porthos loves it. He grins.

 

“I'm a sucker for quiet moments, I've found out. It's nice to simply hold you like that. Because I didn't think one day I could.”

 

Anne agrees, sighing, tiptoeing to kiss his lips. His hand is so strong on her hip.

 

“So if you're ready, Anne, then I'm good, too. We'll ask 'mis if he is but I've a feeling he'll say he is.”

 

Aramis will confirm that later in the night, sheets a mess on the floor, his naked body sweaty and dirty and Anne lying in his arms, his fingernails on her shoulder and Porthos spooning her. He'll say that it's both thrilling and scary to come out like that, especially to people who are Porthos' family. What will it be when they tell Tréville then? Aramis will shudder at the question, not from the chilly air but because Porthos' father's icy cold piercing eyes will flash very clearly in his mind. Porthos will laugh it off, nevertheless a little bit anxious about that as well.

 

For now, Aramis simply collapses on Porthos' lap on the couch because helping Mati choose his clothes is like moving out entirely and probably why Anne eyed him curiously when he suggested the boy helped. He should have known better. She knew better. Yet she said nothing so Aramis finds comfort by curling up onto his boyfriend's chest and demanding quite emphatically that his hair be petted.

 

“See? You don't a need a cat, sweetie. You have me.”

 

“I don't want a cat. They need to be fed and they meow. Rather loudly if you don't pay attention to them. Which reminds me....”

 

Aramis raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend's smirk, ready to pout at the joke he can feel coming.

 

“....I'd rather keep you as my delicious cupcake. You, I can _eat_ and that's much....much more....yummy.”

 

“Good answer,” Aramis says softly, brushing his mouth to Porthos', pressing closer, impatient for Mati to be in bed for some much needed cuddle time with Porthos and their girlfriend. It shouldn't take so long to choose a bedtime story. The boy is certainly stalling. Yet he pads quickly to dislodge his father from Porthos' embrace so he can claim Aramis' lap.

 

“Are we reading here, cutie pie?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Wouldn't it be more comfortable in your bed?”

 

“I can sleep here with Mamá tonight?” Mati asks, hopeful. Anne comes to sit on the edge of the coffee table. She's shaking her head before any of the men can deny the request.

 

“You have your own bed over there, Mati.”

 

“But we sleep in the same bed sometimes and I want to.”

 

“We do, yes, when we are not in our homes. When we visit your grandparents or in the hotel in Disneyland.”

 

“This isn't your home, Mamá!”

 

“But it's yours, sweetheart. You have a warm bed and it's where you have to sleep. Everybody has their room. Papá and Porthos have theirs...”

 

“Because they're in love.”

 

“....yes. And you have yours and I'm a guest so I sleep on the couch.”

 

The boy doesn't have to know this isn't her intention. They haven't talked about it but it's obvious to the three adults.

 

“You can sleep with me if you want!” Mati offers.

 

“We can cuddle while Papá and Porthos read a story. Absolutely. I'd love that.”

 

She doesn't say no, which Mati doesn't realize and by the time the story is almost over, he's yawning against her armpit and doesn't complain one bit when he's left completely alone with his night-light.

 

“So....should we prepare the couch for you then?”

 

There's a spark of amusement in Aramis' tone and Anne swats his hands away, unable to keep a straight face on. She'd rather be in their bed than in the living room. Now that night has fallen, that the lights have dimmed and that they are alone. Now that she can truly focus on this other part of their relationship that she feels she'll crave more and more as days and weeks pass.

 

Aramis' hand is on the nape of her neck, rubbing the soft skin while she sits cross-legged on their bed a warm mug of tea in hand. Porthos needs to pack the night before any trip or else he won't sleep correctly, regardless of who is there when he falls asleep. So Aramis and Anne are watching him do so, providing helpful advice, even though Aramis does the vast majority of it. With rather direct orders for his boyfriend to take specific tee-shirts and _those_ jeans.

 

Because he likes walking behind Porthos when he wears them. He explains this to Anne to make her laugh and to kiss the corner of her mouth.

 

“I heard that,” Porthos mutters.

 

“I sure hope you did!”

 

Aramis dodges the pants thrown at him, ending up lying flat on the mattress. It's a position he doesn't relinquish, staying there, his fingers now on the small of Anne's back who loves the pure joy shining out of those simple moments spent with them.

 

She loves Porthos grabbing the jeans again after she hands them to him. How he also gathers her empty mug to deposit it on the bedside table. How he stands motionless for a few seconds in front of the closet, clearly pondering if he's taken enough clothes. Anne can pinpoint the exact moment he decides he has. His shoulders relax and without any warning, he sinks on top of Aramis, smothering him.

 

“What are you doing?” Aramis tries to shriek, surprised yet absolutely not inconvenienced in the least. His arms come around his boyfriend effortlessly.

 

“Reward for a job well done.”

 

“By crushing me?”

 

“By showing you how much I love you.”

 

“You just threw clothes at me!”

 

“Coz you said you liked them on me.”

 

“I like them better when I take them off you.”

 

“Kiss me,” Porthos growls, drowning the faint complaints with his charms.

 

Besides, Aramis can't deny that he adores it. That he would gladly spend hours stuck beneath his boyfriend, kissing and caressing Porthos' bare back under the loose tee-shirt. Sighing in Porthos' mouth, one foot rubbing up and down his leg. It never stops, much like their kisses. Aramis isn't giggling anymore, hasn't been for quite some time, Anne realizes once she notices how he checks on her to be sure that she's watching.

 

It seems to turn him on, too, to put up a show for her. And who is she to say she doesn't like it? She's always liked watching them kiss. There are so many things to discover now with them as a couple in a closed bedroom. Many things she hadn't even thought about before entertaining strong feelings for these men. It's so compelling, now, that she can't even spare a second to be embarassed.

 

Tongues sweeping, little groans, lips shining and tender skin exposed for her pleasure. Porthos' sturdy bare back, gleaming muscles and fingernails grazing them. The tee-shirt that she clutches with both hands, eyes sweeping the large expanse of naked flesh. The hair in Aramis' face, his half-closed eyes, his hips moving to meet Porthos'. How he grinds against his boyfriend, unashamed to do so with an audience.

 

If Anne's face is any indication, she's liking it. Biting her lip, her breathing ragged in the silence. Sometimes interrupted by small moans and Aramis' encouragements that his boyfriend should do more. Because he likes how Porthos licks down his neck. How hot his crotch is and how he can already feel his cock hardening and he can't wait to get his hands on it. Or his mouth.

 

“You liked that, too, didn't you?” Aramis asks Anne, now that his own tee-shirt is out of the way as well.

 

He hardly hears her answer, overwhelmed by Porthos licking down to his nipples, sucking on them, flicking them with a rough tongue. Aramis rubs harder against him, fumbles with his boyfriend's pants until he can push them down a little, two hands flat on Porthos' ass.

 

Anne wouldn't know what else to say beyond a “yes.” Yes, she did enjoy Aramis going down on Porthos the last time, as much as she is enjoying Aramis' hand down his boyfriend's underwear and the look of complete ecstasy on Porthos' face when he is being touched like this. Anne is feeling a bit hot, too. Even more so when Porthos has stood up, quick to let pants pool to the floor, never hesitating to stand naked in front of her.

 

He feels like he is being studied through her clouded eyes. Anne's breath catches once he kneels back on the bed. So close to her this time. She does like to touch, he's found out.

 

And she's been neglected.

 

She didn't believe she was, focused on being the audience of a very private show. His kiss is transcendent, waking her up, making her fall backwards only to be caught by vigorous arms. Aramis' lips land straight on that soft spot in her neck. He kisses Porthos and the lips which were on Anne just before.

 

He feels Anne's stomach tense under the hands on her legs, smoothing, traveling up to her chest. Grazing her sides, all the way to her hair. It's a delicious sensation to have Porthos touch everything and everywhere in turn and yet to be still completely clothed. Anne likes how they take their time in spite of it all. It makes the entire moment more intense.

 

Hardly any words are spoken, simple noises of appreciation instead, Porthos kneeling between her spread legs, Aramis' fingers under her oversized hoodie and tee-shirt. Under the waistband of her pj bottoms. His lips to her ear eventually whispering that he can feel how much she wants them and that he wants her, too. That Porthos' erection on display for them is a sure sign of this. Anne can't tear her eyes away from it. She rediscovers the texture of it when she wraps her warm fingers around it.

 

Porthos curses, braces himself on his hand and gives her a long, ravishing kiss to keep from screaming. She gives his cock tiny, experimental strokes, encouraged by Aramis, and she's a quick and clever student. Anne whimpers around Porthos' tongue.

 

His cock is coming alive under her touch, her skin also tingling with Aramis' fingertips, how delicate they are. Aramis nibbles at the skin of her neck, right below her ear. So close to Porthos he could kiss them both at the same time if he wanted. Instead, he watches Anne's ministrations and how their boyfriend reacts to them. Porthos is grunting whenever he breaks the kiss, always coming back for more. For the few seconds she's not touching him, when they help her out of her tops, he yearns for her hand. When it's back without hesitation, when it's firmer and stronger on his cock, Porthos keens, can't prevent his hips from moving.

 

He may grab her waist too tightly, but Anne likes it. Just like she enjoys Aramis' nails roaming her chest. Under the curve of her breasts. Knowing exactly where to not touch to make her hot. She's panting after a while of his slow torture, rewarded by Porthos' warm mouth full on her nipple. Sucking, pushing her back, Aramis' arm across her stomach.

 

She smells and tastes amazing, her breasts heaving with each breath, with Porthos almost lying on top of them both, with Aramis' tongue licking her ear, teasing. Anne rests her head on his shoulder, shuddering at the fingers always reaching lower.

 

“Can I touch you?” Aramis rasps, one finger dipping in her underwear but not low enough to actually satisfy her.

 

“Yes.”

 

It's a short moan, followed by a longer one and Anne forgets to please Porthos. Not that he requires it.

 

Her skin is enticing. Beautiful breasts to worship, to touch and massage. And the way she moves underneath him because of Aramis' hand flat between her legs, that's enough of a spectacle. His palm is hot against her, through clothing first then under it, right against her soft flesh. So eager and so dedicated. Extremely pleased by how wet she already is.

 

Aramis is so hard that he's certain she can feel it on her back. Sometimes when Anne writhes it causes the best friction for his cock. Enough for now.

 

“You're so wet, Anne...Porthos is good, isn't he? He has the most perfect tongue to get you off. I should know.”

 

Anne clutches a handful of the comforter, Porthos' tongue flat on a nipple, twirling. Licking the underside of her breast; his hand full of the other one. Until his tongue licks a little bit lower on her stomach and Anne thrashes under the pressure of Aramis' fingers pressing inside of her.

 

“Does that excite you?” he goes on. “Porthos' tongue and what it does to me?”

 

Anne can barely nod. She's afraid if she opens her mouth, she'll shout out. Biting her lip is safer. She's falling apart and Aramis isn't helping. Except that he is and she doesn't want him to stop talking or moving.

 

“Do you want that tongue somewhere else? Do you want Porthos here?”

 

Aramis rubs her clit at the question, finding Porthos looking up at him and smirking. Aramis is turning everybody on like only him can do it. Porthos flicks around her belly button to hear Anne gasp and urge him to get rid of the last pieces of clothing on her.

 

“I bet you taste delicious,” Aramis says.

 

“I'll share,” Porthos promises, his nose on her stomach, needing no further consent than her quick breathing and the nails digging in his shoulder.

 

He licks it all, clit and all that fantastic wetness, letting Aramis knead her breasts and give such remarkable comments on Porthos' head between her legs that Anne feels like her entire body is going to combust. It's too much. The tongue and the fingers and the lips sucking on her. Sucking and kissing sensitive flesh. Alongside Aramis' words and the poetry he can put in describing sex.

 

“That's magical, isn't it?” His lips brush her ear, tip of his tongue teasing more. “That perfect tongue. So full and rough and fast. When it's inside of you, it's so hot. I want to do the same to you, you know. I want to try all of this. I want to lick your clit and I want to....fuck you with my tongue, too. I want you to come with my mouth against you. As hot as you are, Anne...”

 

He gives open kisses to her jawline, making her crane her head to indulge in a proper kiss. His tongue demonstrates what he's painted for her. With his fingers pinching her nipples and Porthos suckling on her clit, fast laps which make her stomach tingle, Anne comes with a delicious orgasm. One that makes her heart and mind go blank. Her body tenses and still relishes in Porthos' caresses, his hand massaging her thigh and Aramis kissing her sweetly, swallowing her moans.

 

Anne believes that if she could see starts, she would. They are spectacular with her. Sex should never stop. And it doesn't.

 

Her mind might be foggy, Porthos' contented grin is unmistakable. Lips and beard wet from her and going straight to keep his word. To share her taste with Aramis. A kiss full on his boyfriend's mouth, tongue deep inside, one hand pulling him in further.

 

Aramis groans, steals as much of that smell as he can. He goes to suck Porthos' fingers, staring at his boyfriend, swirling his tongue around the knuckles. Porthos' eyes are dark with lust and more desire and Anne's hand is back on his hip, rubbing the skin gently, kissing his shoulder. She giggles a little at Aramis drawing the duvet on her so she won't feel cold.

 

“Was that good?” he also asks, as attentive as ever.

 

She's glowing under the halo of her blond hair so he doesn't quite require more proof of her well-being. Her toes curling and her happy smile are sights to behold, though. She's pretty.

 

“My turn,” Aramis decides then, all but springing on his boyfriend, straddling him, holding Porthos' hands high above his head.

 

Aramis shudders at their cocks finally brushing. He has been entirely not touched enough tonight. He doesn't want to take his time. He matches the way Porthos' hips push up, how their cocks grind against their stomaches, against one another. Greedy kisses and flushed chests until Porthos manages to free a hand to clutch Aramis' waist. To grab his ass fiercely, letting his fingers wander.

 

Aramis groans, both from anticipation and the sure pleasure he'll get soon.

 

“Fuck me....Hard....Deep.”

 

He rubs their cocks faster, harder, and swears at Porthos' fingers in his ass. Aramis spreads his legs, lies down on top of his boyfriend and gives Anne a view that would make most blush. But she's captivated by their interaction. By the noises and the shuffling. The passion and the desire.

 

The come on Porthos' chest when it's too much and Aramis has collapsed against him totally. The tongue cleaning Porthos' stomach thoroughly. The little purrs that Aramis makes when he delights at what his boyfriend did to him. Now he can breathe again. Not evenly but neither can Porthos. They're both immensely satisfied.

 

Aramis pauses for a second when he's back to gather Anne in his arms. She's curious, though, impatient to try new things all the time, empowered by what her gaze and her touch can do to them. Because they were looking at her as they came, at her hand which had snuck between her legs.

 

So she's the one leaning in to kiss Aramis, to taste Porthos on his lips this time. It's light-heading. It's a bit dirty but she decides she likes that a lot actually. His hand is smooth as it cups her cheek and Porthos' chest is rock-hard on her back, keeping her safe and warm.

 

That could totally be his life from now. It has to be his life from now on.

 

“We need Athos to give you a room next to ours this weekend. So we can come and see you at night. If you don't mind. I'm still very....hungry for you,” Aramis says. Anne chuckles, hums her approval. Yes. Definitely. “Or we could give her a tour of the treehouse.”

 

Porthos snorts, fumbling to grab his boyfriend's waist and tickle him. The treehouse will go down in his sex history. Especially after Anne demands to know this story, too and that she drifts to sleep marveling that Porthos could be such a charmer from a young age. It's the second mention of Alice she's heard tonight and this one is a sweet story, one which makes her want to get acquainted with more of Porthos' friends.

 

Alice is a very lovely girl, Anne decides when she meets her the following day. Bright and a large smile on her face when she hugs Porthos, tired by the long hours of driving and having to make do with an excited child on the backseat of the car, regardless of all the distractions his parents had provided him with. He was promised two new friends upon his arrival and it was too much. Porthos has a headache because of Mati's shrills and seeing all of his friends gathered to welcome them lessens it. It makes him forget he snapped a couple of times at the boy and almost lost his temper entirely.

 

Athos' nephews are shy for a few minutes, hiding behind their mother while the adults greet one another, making Anne feel at ease from the get-go. She's happy to have been included, happy for her son to discover new children to play with. It's even better when the first shyness has disappeared and the twins smile and ask her son questions.

 

Ninon is also all smiles and happiness that Anne could join them. It's going to be a good weekend, with sunshine and hardly any clouds in the sky. With many activities and time spent doing nothing with Porthos' friends. It's already better to be out of the car, he sighs.

 

Now that he sees that Anne is accepted as an evidence because of how she is somewhat related to his boyfriend but also because Ninon and her clearly hit it off that night at the museum. They could become great friends. Porthos hopes so. He also hopes Alice won't start the day off ditching dirty secrets she has on him. He hopes she'll have the decency to wait a few hours.

 

“Would you like to see your room?” Ninon asks Mati when they've been standing in front of the mansion for too long.

 

The boy is busy looking around him. At the giant park and the giant house. The massive staircase and all the colours on the walls inside. The big chandelier and the large bay windows leading outside. He's a little overwhelmed by the grandeur and all the information shared by the twins. They are about his age, he thinks and since they were told they would have someone new to play with, they are rather impatient to do so.

 

“With Mamá?” he still asks. It's a vital piece of information.

 

“Your mother has her own room on the first floor. You're right here with Charles and Olivier.”

 

“Like a sleepover?”

 

He peers into the door Ninon has opened for him on the ground floor, suspicious yet a bit interested. He clutches his mother's hand, not convinced that he won't be able to sleep in the same room as her.

 

“Exactly,” Ninon smiles.

 

“To sleep on a couch? Mamá sleeps on the couch when she stays with us.”

 

Anne is thankful the men have gone upstairs to carry their own bags because otherwise, she would most certainly have blushed a bit at Ninon's surprised double-take.

 

They've agreed they wouldn't refrain from showing their affection if they felt like it. However, they've all refused to simply make a big announcement of their dating and romantic involvement. They're not here to put on a show. Anne can't quite explain with actual words what she feels for Aramis and Porthos anyway. She can with them because they understand but with others, she isn't so sure she'd manage. She's certain the others will notice something is different between her and the men over the next days. They're not going to hide anymore.

 

“Not a couch here,” Ninon explains. “A real bed. Look.”

 

The large bedroom is overflowing with toys. An arranged mess and bunk beds and a side door connecting it to the baby-sitter's. Because Athos' sister-in-law loves her sons but she wants some freedom on her vacation, too. Anne finds the young girl very nice and who is she to deny she's thrilled she won't have to look after Mati every hour of every day?

 

That sells it for the child who lets go of Anne's hand to inspect the new place. For now, he's forgotten that his mother won't be close by during the night.

 

Her own bedroom is at the far end of the corridor on the floor above. Right by the massive balcony which overlooks the grounds. So much land that you can't see the end of it. It always fills Aramis with calm and peace. It's silent and you can hear birds in the trees.

 

“Athos said she could sleep here,” Flea says, showing Porthos the new room, waiting on the doorstep while he sets Anne's suitcase by her bed.

 

“I'm sure she'll like it.”

 

Not that he has any intention of letting Anne sleep by herself. Either there or in their bedroom. Everything smells fresh and clean, bathed in the clear rays of sunshine. It's a nice room.

 

“She better,” Flea mutters. “It's the last one inoccupied. You can't bring in more new people after that.”

 

She still doesn't fully understand why Anne has been invited. Mati, yes, and Flea loves the kid. His mother, though? Why does she always have to be with Porthos and Aramis? Why does Porthos have to be so gentle with her? It makes no sense.

 

“Flea....no drama, please. Not over that.”

 

He raises an eybrow, determined to avoid fighting if he can help it. His head hurts enough as it is. Flea cocks her head and smiles, dazzling her friend with her best intentions.

 

“I like when you're all with me,” Porthos adds. “You and Anne included. We've talked about that. And you said that whatever was bothering you shouldn't stop us from having fun.”

 

“I did.”

 

“So let's do that, okay? Unless you want to talk?” His hands are on her shoulders but she simply shakes her head. Porthos has tried to find some spare time to call Charon since his girlfriend's outburst at the nightclub but it's been fruitless. She'll talk when she's ready, as long as she doesn't ruin everybody else's weekend because of her bad mood.

 

“Nope. I'll try to have fun with her, too. Since you said it's something she's capable of.”

 

“It is.”

 

“And in the mean time, I'll definitely beat your ass at racing later.”

 

“I wouldn't count on that!”

 

Porthos shoves her shoulder and hardly wobbles when she bumps his. She teases him all the way down the stairs to the dining room. Porthos hasn't ridden a horse in forever and Flea is positive she'll ace it. She won't shut up about it over lunch. Now that everyone has settled in and that Anne is getting more acquainted with her guests.

 

Now that Mati has adopted the twins and doesn't even mind having to sit at a different table than his parents.

 

Aramis is always relieved to watch Anne talk with the girls, smiling at him whenever she catches his stare. That's a life worh living. To socialize for herself and not solely for the sake of her child. He's glad Ninon thought to ask for her to join their group for the holiday.

 

They are so busy with so many things to see and discover. The books in the library, the outstanding kitchen and the hot-tub. The whispers in Anne's ear when no one is watching that they'll try it before going back to the city. All the teasing that the friends do. Anne can't contribute but she doesn't mind sitting back and listening. The weather is nice enough to lounge outside on the patio with sunglasses and in a tee-shirt. It's a bit too early for cocktails, Athos gets scolded, which doesn't stop him from appearing with a glass of wine at one point.

 

The tranquility of the adults is broken some time in the middle of the afternoon because naps are overrated on holidays and three kids storming out of the mansion is a bit much to handle. Especially when Mati is right in his mother's face, startling her. Aramis' arm is strong around her shoulders and she instinctively burrows further under it. It stays there even after Porthos has suggested to accompany Athos tend to the horses and in his exhuberance, Mati wants to tag along. So he can leave his parents to themselves for a while.

 

“They're beautiful!” he marvels at the animals, gripping Porthos' shoulder when he's in his arms in order to be tall enough to pet the horse. And the second one. The third and the fourth one.

 

“They're _so_ big, Porfos! Taller than you!”

 

“Almost, yeah. This one's my favorite. Firebolt, that's his name.”

 

“Porthos always wins when he rides this one,” Athos says, the undertone of many lost races in every single one of his words. Porthos snorts, continues to feed the horse barley. Mati tries it, too.

 

“Which is why tomorrow I'll let Flea have him.”

 

“She'll throw a fit if she thinks you're losing on purpose.”

 

“.....yeah. Probably.”

 

“I should never have taught you how to ride.”

 

“You didn't think a kid from the streets could be so awesome, am I right?” Porthos replies cheekily. Being a newly adopted teenager befriending Athos was both a peculiar and amazing experience.

 

“Did you?” Athos asks back, smirking.

 

They're interrupted by the little boy stepping between them and stopping the conversation for a more important one.

 

“Can I go on the horse with you, Porfos?”

 

“I'm not riding right now, no.”

 

“But I want to go on that pretty horse!”

 

“Not now, Mati. They're eating.”

 

The child sulks loudly, crossing his arms on his small chest. Porthos waits for more but nothing comes. Mati isn't comfortable enough around Athos to turn to him for help.

 

“We'll ride tomorrow. That's the plan, buddy.”

 

“But _I_ wanted today. Charles said his dad let him to do it this morning.”

 

“Tomorrow, Mati. Come on. Let's go see the slides.”

 

Mati nonetheless drags his feet, looking behind his shoulder and only allowing Porthos to take his hand because he wants to walk as fast as the adults. The prospect of more games midly revives his spirits.

 

“There's a pool!” he exclaims, pointing at the other patio. The blue of the water and the light ripples on the surface are what Mati needs to forget the horses. “I want to go!” He tugs on Porthos' hand. Hard for someone his size. “Come on!”

 

“Not now, Mati. It's not hot enough and you've just eaten.”

 

“But I want to swim!”

 

“I said not now.”

 

“You can't tell me no!” Mati shouts, trying with all his might to break free from his stepfather's grip on him. When it becomes obvious that this will prove impossible, it angers him more. The kick to Porthos' shin is so unexpected that it actually hurts. “You can't tell me no! You're not my dad!”

 

“Mati!” Aramis roars, on his feet when he hears the louder scream.

 

He's dumbfounded to see Porthos trying to avoid more kicks, unwilling to let go of the boy or else he'd run away. Aramis is astonished, too. Athos has no idea whatsoever what to do. Kids are a mystery he never wishes to unravel personally. He needs more of this wine. Since when their quiet weekends have been taken over by children?

 

Athos takes a step back to let Aramis march past to get to his son.

 

“Stop that! Matias, stop!”

 

Aramis yanks him away so fast to put Porthos out of harm's way that he will worry later that he might have been too rough on his son. Right now, he's furious. Furious at the violence. Both physical and the one behind his son's words. Porthos is shoked, too, unable to help. Having no idea what came over the boy. This isn't like the tantrums he's witnessed for the past months.

 

“Matias, stop. Look at me. Stop!”

 

“Porfos is mean! He doesn't let me do anything! And he's not my dad! He can't tell me what to do!”

 

The explanation is drowned in hiccups and Aramis finds that he has to lean back to avoid little arms flinging in the air.

 

“You do _not_ hit people. Never. Ever. Do you hear me?”

 

“I want the pool and the horses!” Mati wails, his father's fist around his wrist to calm him.

 

It's useless. Angry tears roll down Mati's cheeks and it's overwhelming for everybody. They have too much of an audience for the boy to calm down.

 

“You're not getting anything with that attitude, young man. You're going to go think about what you've done for a moment.”

 

Aramis leaves no room for negotiation except that he has to force Mati to walk since the child is very much against the idea. Anne has never seen, or heard, her boy shrieks so loudly. She's unsure what to do, who would need her the most. Aramis to deal with the child or Porthos, who hasn't moved at all. As if frozen on the spot where he stood when Mati started shouting. And hitting him.

 

Aramis is handling the child. Porthos has no one to make sure that he is all right, which he mustn't be. Too much has been happening to him for the past week. The security guard and now this? Anne makes up her mind easily.

 

The screams in the background don't stop until Mati is alone in his fathers' bedroom.

 


	16. The Dads (2)

Anne brushes past Athos on her way to Porthos who is still standing in the middle of the lawn, frowning and looking at his empty hands. She's careful walking toward him, stopping rather far to let him breathe and have enough personal space. To say that she is ashamed of how her son just treated him is an understatement. It was all going so well so far. Porthos needs comfort but she's unsure how to provide it correctly, exactly like Athos is. Instead, he strides back to the patio and heads directly inside.

 

Straight for the living room and he only comes back outside with a new glass of wine and the entire bottle in tow. He collapses in the armchair that Anne has deserted next to Ninon and scowls when she takes the bottle away from him.

 

“That was enjoyable,” he mutters. He was hoping to spend some time with his best friend but for that, he'd need the kid to behave like a normal human being. They can still hear screams above their heads and he wants them to stop. The wine helps. “I never want one like that.”

 

“You don't want any, honey,” Ninon reminds him, rubbing his arm.

 

“With good reasons. Look at that. All that shrieking. I'd be a terrible father.”

 

The mere thought of it makes him shudder. He would break a cold sweat thinking about having to take care of somebody so little and so fragile. So unreliable. One minute they are cute and tolerable and the next they turn into horrible monsters. Ninon pats his hand.

 

“Nobody's born a parent. That's something that you learn along the way.”

 

“Still. I'm great never learning. Things are quieter without children. No offence, Catherine,” he adds for his sister-in-law.

 

None taken, she assures him. The shouts have stopped for now but she's nonetheless asked the baby-sitter to distract the twins elsewhere in case the massive tantrum gave them any ideas. She feels a bit sorry for Aramis who had to wrestle his boy inside and up the stairs. So does Thomas. Sometimes he curses fate for making him have to deal with two children at the same time and yet he's also thankful and absolutely certain that after his sons, he doesn't want any other babies and so they won't have to suffer through the entire process again. He loves his kids but they can be so loud.

 

“Mati is usually so sweet, though,” Flea says, eyes set on Porthos nodding in the distance at something that Anne is saying. She can't hear the conversation, but she's at least glad the mother is taking responsibility for what her child did. “I wonder what made him do such things.”

 

“He doesn't like being told no. That's what.”

 

“Do you think if I screamed anytime Charon didn't want to order pineapple pizza it'd work?”

 

“It works without you shrieking,” Charon replies, relieved his girlfriend is finding something funny about the whole predicament.

 

“I know,” she grins widely, plopping on his lap to give him a generous kiss.

 

Life was indeed quieter before Porthos met Aramis and his family. Or before he met the boy. Flea has always liked Aramis and how beneficial he was to her friend. Porthos wouldn't have settled down for anybody else, she's positive about it. They are the most perfect couple Flea has ever seen. After her and Charon.

 

And, well, yes, she also likes Mati a lot because he's so smiling and happy to be alive and she feels like she's a young kid herself whenever they hang out. But this is the first time she's seen him being any less than that and it is not an aspect of parenthood she'd like having to deal with.

 

Nobody enjoys it, which is why when Aramis comes back outside, he doesn't spare anyone a side glance, driven toward his boyfriend by the invisible and desperate need to make sure that Porthos is okay. He can't quite be.

 

Anne steps back to let him come through. Not that she was that close anyway. It didn't feel appropriate. And Porthos didn't ask for it. Her words were comforting enough, like they've always been. Her voice steady and peaceful and reassuring. It could settle his heart anytime. But Aramis is Porthos' boyfriend first and foremost and has been for so long, regardless of her new relationship status with the both of them. She'll always let them have special moments together. There will always be times when Porthos will need Aramis more than he needs her. And she's fine with it. They are already giving her more than what she would have ever imagined.

 

If the fierce hug that Aramis gives his boyfriend is any indication, they do need their private moments, too. Anne has been a bit obsessed with being close since last weekend and she joined them in bed. Intoxicated with an intimacy which was foreign to her and by the knowledge that they wanted to have sex with her. She might have been monopolizing their attention away from each other. And yet she's always been so adamant that she wouldn't infringe upon their exceptional bond.

 

It makes her happy and relieved to witness Porthos' strong hands on Aramis' back and how he chuckles on his shoulder after many reassurances and promises of lots of ways to make up for the hardships Porthos is going through.

 

“You did nothing wrong, 'mis.” He said the same to Anne. They are incredibly attentive and caring but this is none of their doing. Porthos can't even find it in himself to be mad at Mati. It hurts too much.

 

“Still. Mati should never have done that to you. You're precious to us. To me. I love you. I love you for everything that you are and I'm so proud of you, sweetie. For all that you're giving me. I love you and I'll have him apologize. He didn't mean what he said.”

 

Porthos sighs. The last minutes have shaken his convictions. To their very core and it's too unsettling. He was so sure they were doing fine. That he was doing a great job as a stepfather, that the boy loved him a lot, like he said on multiple occasions. And it always made Porthos proud, too. But he doesn't understand what happened to Mati. What triggered the awful words his stomach is churning around. He wants so desperately to fit in. What if it was all an illusion? What if the only solid thing he can rely on is the brilliant love shining out of Aramis right now and every day of their life? The love making him feel valued and important.

 

Porthos hugs him tighter then. He presses his lips to his boyfriend's, swallowing confident and comforting praises.

 

Porthos liked the idea of them being a big family. To have what he never had when he was little. What if it can't happen? Maybe he's reading too much into it. Maybe the last month has been a rollercoaster for Mati as well as for the adults. Maybe it's going so well but there have to be setbacks from time to time? Maybe Anne is also correct in saying that Mati is only a small child after all and he went for what would hurt the most once he was so deeply frustrated. He did so successfully. Porthos would never have imagined those words would pain him so much one day.

 

 _You're not my dad._ Mati is right, though, even if his parents keep on stating that Porthos is. That he's growing into the character.

 

Aramis' arms are a fantastic place to be in to be comforted. Porthos wishes they could stay like this forever. To forget the world, its atrocities and its hopelessness. There's always joy with just Aramis. Porthos loves him so much. He loves when they are quiet together and they're focused on each other instead of on others. Porthos likes Anne and Mati even after what happened, but right now it's Aramis that he needs. Forever and always more than anybody else.

 

For a split second, he wishes they were alone for the weekend with no other worry but spending a good time with their friends. No fussing child. No explanation as to why they chose to date Anne. Nothing complicated. Only love and affection and laughter. Like it was before Porthos decided he did want to be a part of this family. When he had no responsibility.

 

Kissing Aramis is already making it better. It softens the sting in his leg and the sharper one in his heart. Life can be messed up but not with Aramis close. It never is. Aramis works like a charm. He warms Porthos from the inside out. A fuzzy feeling that will always make Porthos smile in spite of their problems.

 

The cold beer which magically appears in Porthos' hand when he's back on the patio also does. Aramis is glued to his side on the sofa, apologizing to the rest of their friends for the quite awful moment they've all had to witness. Anne is so embarassed that her son and herself were invited for the first time and that is the very first impression Mati is making on the entire group.

 

“These things happen with children. It's fine,” Catherine reassures her, along with Ninon. It's hard to say who is most in charge of the place here. Athos' sister-in-law or his girlfriend. Either way, Anne enjoys their company and is determined to make up for the screams. Mati is just a kid, after all. He'll be better once he's calmed down.

 

“We'll lock him up in the cellar if he does it again,” Athos mumbles and it's such an earnest joke that Porthos laughs out loud, choking a bit on his drink. He can't say if Athos is serious or not.

 

Anne does look a little unsure herself, watching her host and Porthos from her seat far away from the boyfriends. Porthos thinks he can guess why she's keeping her distance, because there's been enough emotions for now and it's far from being over. But he has Aramis close and that's all that he needs for now.

 

“You won't!” Alice exclaims. “You'd be a terrible caretaker indeed. Have I ever told you about that student who would tie himself to his chair if I didn't let him keep his coat in class?”

 

Porthos smiles faintly again, glad for the stories about her young pupils and the questions that the others ask so he only has to listen in silence. Everybody is so attentive and they are all a part of his family. Porthos is so tremendously happy to be with them. To catch up. Mati is only a child, yes. He was angry, frustrated. He didn't mean it, Porthos hopes.

 

Aramis' heart has been thudding for the past fifteen minutes. Ever since he put Mati upstairs. It hammers because he's annoyed at what's happened, at everything that Porthos is being put through while he's just the most adorable human being on the planet. It's worse today than it was with the security guard at Disneyland. This time it comes from within their family and he doesn't want to leave his boyfriend alone even for a few minutes. Yet he's resolute now more than ever to clear things up with his son. Hopefully, the time alone in the bedroom will have calmed Mati down.

 

Anne comes along, but not before her hand leaves a warm imprint on Porthos' shoulder when she hastily squeezes it on her way inside. He deserves all the hugs in the world.

 

“Mati, sweetie, have you calmed down?”

 

It's quiet in the room when Aramis pokes his head in. The boy is curled up on the bed, rubbing his eyes when Anne closes the door behind them and comes to sit next to Mati. He goes for her lap at once because Aramis is the one who grounded him and he's still upset about that.

 

“Do you know why I grounded you?”

 

The child looks up at his mother instead, clutching her dress, fingers in his mouth. His cheeks are wet and his eyes are red. He hiccups.

 

“I screamed?”

 

“Yes. And?”

 

“Mamá?”

 

“Answer Papá's question, Mati.” Her tone is inflexible and the boy seems to withdraw upon himself.

 

“What did you do to Porthos? What did I say you should never do?”

 

“.....I hit him?”

 

“Yes, you did. And that's not okay, buddy. No, no, don't cry,” Aramis says, sitting on the edge of the bed now that fresh tears are threatening to spill. “It's very bad to hit people and you mustn't do that again. Do you hear me?”

 

“But he didn't want me to go on the horse or in the pool.”

 

“You can't hit people because they don't give you what you want. I wouldn't have let you in the outdoor pool either. And we all agreed we'd ride the horses tomorrow.”

 

“But, Papá....”

 

“I don't want to hear it, Mati. You cannot always get what you want, and it doesn't mean that we don't love you. We do. Porthos does, too, and that's why he stuck to our plans. Now, though, he's very saddened by what you did. What do we do when we make people sad?”

 

“......say sorry?” Mati sniffs loudly, gripping the tissue Anne has given him. His little body is heaving in her arms.

 

“Yes. You have to go and apologize. And promise that you'll never do it again. Understood?”

 

Mati nods quietly because he doesn't like it when his Papá talks like that. He doesn't like when Papá uses a big voice and Mati doesn't want Porfos to be upset. Even if Porfos was still not nice to not let him do anything. Mati wants the horses very much. They are big animals. Very soft. It's not fair. It's also not fait to be stuck in a bedroom with no toys and if that's what happens if Mati screams too loud, he'll sure try to remember to not do it again.

 

“Good,” Aramis decides, relieved that this part of the problem is dealt with. Mati knows when he's lost. There is still the second important issue of the argument to discuss. “Sweetie, why did you say that Porthos wasn't your dad?” he asks after a silent while.

 

“Because Maxence said he's not.”

 

“Maxen....Who's Maxence?”

 

“Augustin's cousin. Yesterday he said everybody has one mom and one dad. Even S _ou_ perman. Porfos isn't my dad and he cannot tell me what to do or not do.”

 

His mother's arms wrap tighter around his waist and Mati can feel her lips on his hair. So he shakes it, but she doesn't budge. Even Papá sighs and comes closer to hug them both. Mati certainly isn't in trouble anymore or they wouldn't cuddle together. Maybe Papá isn't angry anymore. Mati hopes so.

 

“Sweetie.....Mamá and I love Porthos very, very much. You know that. We're loving him more every day. And he's been living with me, with us, for quite some time already, hasn't he? We both trust him to take care of you and that means that yes, he can, and he should tell you what to do or not do. For your own good. Because he loves you and he doesn't want bad things to happen to you.”

 

“But he's not my dad. Maxence said....”

 

“Yes, we heard you. Listen, Mati. Listen to me very carefully. It's important.”

 

Aramis grabs the little hands fiercely. Sweaty and wet fingers in his palm. He understands perfectly well what has happened, what is happening to his son. No matter how many times they talked about Porthos' role in their family, they should have realized one day his friends would talk and children can be easily confused. Mati is. Mati would have never been so rude or disrespectful to Porthos otherwise, Aramis is positive.

 

“Maxence is not wrong. To make a baby, you need a mom and a dad. That's why you have Mamá and you have me. Because we made you. But then, as far as the rest of your life is concerned, you can have more or fewer parents. Do you remember what I told you about Porthos when he was a child?”

 

“He lived in the house with the other children? With Flea and Charon?”

 

“He did. Yes. Do you remember why?”

 

“Because his Mamá was in Heaven and his Papá didn't exist.”

 

“Yes. You could say that. But then, when he was older, he met Tréville and he became his dad. He still is. That's how Porthos calls him, even though he didn't make him.”

 

“Porfos only has one dad, Papá.”

 

His son is rather smart, Aramis has always been convinced of this and he can see more clearly why the entire situation would puzzle him. It didn't at first, with the novelty of moving to a new country, to learn to live with his father and his subsequent boyfriend. Now that they are so comfortable together, that Mati has started to consider Porthos like the excellent guardian that he is, it's normal he would begin to question things.

 

“He does. One dad which takes really good care of him even today. Tell me, Mati, do you remember when I hurt my ankle in the winter and you had nightmares? Who came to see that the monsters were gone? And who came to sleep with you so they wouldn't come back to scare you?”

 

“Porfos did. Because you hurt. My bed is too small for Porfos!”

 

It is. It was. For a couple of terrible nights, Porthos' back was extremely painful because of it. He never complained, though. He wouldn't have let Aramis suffer through this ordeal along with his sprained ankle.

 

“That was a really dad thing to do, wasn't it? To shoo monsters away?”

 

Mati nods eargerly. He loved having Porfos in bed with him. He's really warm and he would use a scary voice to frighten the bad people in Mati's dreams. He was better than a night-light. It's a pity Porfos didn't want to sleep with Mati even when the monsters had left.

 

“So, you see? Porthos loves you and he wants to keep you safe. Even if technically, he didn't make you. He doesn't need to. Making a baby isn't enough to be called a dad. A dad takes care of you, just like I do. And like Mamá does. Except, lucky you, you've got Porthos, too. We're all very lucky to have him.”

 

“I love Porfos, too. He helped glue the stickers on the garland for school.”

 

“Oh, so that's what there was so much blue on it!” Anne chimes in. She's been wondering. Mati usually prefers to use green. He nods again, craning his head at her. He doesn't look upset anymore and they did need to have this conversation. Aramis is so good. She's blessed.

 

“And he lets me climb on his shoulders.”

 

“If you think here,” Aramis touches Mati's chest lightly, “that Porthos is your dad, then he is. I think Porthos is your dad. Even if I am, too. Your friends can tell you that he isn't, but that's because it's not common to have two dads and a mom. It can happen, though. Some children have two moms even. And it's all right.”

 

Mati takes a whole two seconds to look at his father with bemused eyes. Up at his mother who confirms what's just been said. Then back at Aramis. He knew Augustin's cousin was being mean saying that. Mati wasn't lying. He wasn't wrong.

 

“Porfos is like my dad? He can?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

“I want him, Papá. He's teaching me how to dance and new French words.”

 

Anne raises an eyebrow at that, but what Mati said before is a brighter thing to focus on. Hopefully now he's understood what he did wrong and won't use those horrible words ever again.

 

“Then go tell him,” Aramis insists, helping the boy to his feet so they can go back downstairs.

 

Mati whines at still having to apologize because now that he understands what the problem was and everything has been explained, he shouldn't have to. He should be able to go and play with his new friends. Not until he's told his stepfather what he promised he'd say. And more. He's holding on to Aramis' arm in the library, shy all of a sudden to see Porthos stride in the room so they won't have an audience.

 

“Mati has some things to tell you, Porthos. Go on.”

 

“......Sorry. I hit you......I won't do it again. It wasn't nice.”

 

“Thank you, buddy. I forgive you.” Really, Porthos can't be mad at the sad eyes and the death grip on his father and how the child shuffles on his feet. There is more of it, stumbling and hiding behind a hand, looking at Porthos and hesitating.

 

“Could you go and give Porthos a hug?” Anne suggests and in a couple of steps, Mati is in warm arms, now that Porthos has crouched. The boy's breathing is soft against his shoulder, little fists hanging on to the collar of his tee-shirt. This is better. This is what Porthos prefers.

 

“Papá said.....” The next words knock the breath out of Porthos. In a good way this time. “Can you be my dad, too? Coz Papá said you can be, and I love you.”

 

Aramis watches Porthos stumble a bit at the force of the admission. Straightforward exactly like Mati always is. He's rarely seen his boyfriend speechless and of course it would be thanks to something that Mati said. In his innocent and adorable tone now that he is back to his sweet self.

 

“I....yes, I'd like that.” It's all that Porthos can manage to say at this point. The question isn't unexpected because he was aware of what his boyfriend would talk about with the child. But Porthos didn't imagine Mati would accept it so easily. Yet, he's the first one who realized what Porthos was becoming for him. Before Porthos even envisioned it himself. He hauls the boy up in his arms, legs around his waist and strong small hands on his shoulders.

 

“Good. But don't scold me too much.”

 

This time Porthos does laugh out loud. A hoarse sound which doesn't sound hollow anymore. In the last hour, he's been hurt so terribly and yet comforted to such levels by the same child. His mind is a little puzzled by it all. Too many rushes of energy and he needs to relax for the rest of the day. Mati hugging him tighter and not refusing the light kiss to his cheek help.

 

“I want two dads. It's _more cool_.”

 

Aramis joins in the embrace once Porthos has collapsed in the sofa and that Mati is still sprawled on top of him. He would cry if he could, but it might send the wrong message to his son. He'll cry later when they are alone. Because Porthos deserves so much out of life. He deserves to be understood and cherished and he deserves everything that he desires. Everything that Aramis can willingly give him. And more. People to love. People to take care of because no one was there to do it for him when he was a toddler. People to understand him. People to stand up for him and people to make him belong in the wide world.

 

It includes Mati who in his innocence always recognized who Porthos was for him before any of the adults did. Mati who's always wanted Porthos to be more than a friend and who only questioned his actual role when challenged by others. Mati _is_ smart. He's kind. He's still a kid. Throwing tantrums which will continue even if he said today he wouldn't do it again. He's tiring and Aramis wants to snuggle with Porthos in bed for the rest of the day to recover. They'll do that later.

 

“We are cool, aren't we?” Porthos ponders, eyes shining. His voice is shaky. He doesn't know what else to say. “Cool, strong, and brave.”

 

“And handsome,” Aramis adds.

 

“Wow, we're close to being the best.”

 

“We are!” Mati exclaims, burying his face in the crook of Porthos' neck. It smells good and it's a smell he's begun to associate with home and love and Maxence can say whatever he wants, Mati has two dads like he said yesterday and he's right.

 

With that and Aramis' short kisses to his temple, it's like Porthos has found a bubble of love and pride in the midst of a terrible afternoon and a difficult week and month. He needs a break. Not from them. Not from all of them. A break from troubles and from people who are trying to create difficulties where there shouldn't be any. Life is hard, but for once, _for once_ , Porthos wants to believe it can be easy. As easy as forgiving the little boy in his arms. As easy as seeing the joy when he's told that now he can go see his friends and try the slides and the swings. As easy as hearing Mati say that he loves him again. Right before he tells his parents the same.

 

Porthos hugs Aramis tighter when there's silence around them again. He's almost forgotten Anne was in the room until she says that she'll go back to see Ninon and Alice.

 

“You can stay. There's room for you.” Porthos opens his arms for her but she only shakes her head. They are beautiful as they are. Snuggled and forming a big cluster on the couch. They are good together and she is good watching them being in love.

 

“Ninon promised she'd show me how to make, and I quote, killer cocktails.”

 

“Oh, yes. They are really yummy. Bring us some,” Aramis demands.

 

“With lemon?”

 

She smiles at Aramis' licking his lips at the question. Her smile widens at how he takes her hand to kiss it. Pure dedication and affection and so it doesn't matter if they aren't together all the time. If she lets them have their long moments alone. Two boyfriends together. It doesn't matter because deep in their heart, they know how they feel and it's enough. And it's great love to realize when her boyfriends need to be without her. Anne can't be jealous or resentful. She'll never be. They are offering much of their life as it is. She could never ask for more. She doesn't require it. Her life has improved tremendously already.

 

Her skin tingles from Aramis' lips and she rubs her hand absent-mindedly, her gaze lost in Porthos when she bends to kiss his cheek. Intimacy at its best. The _I love you_ on the tip of her tongue, which she doesn't say. The one he thinks he guesses from her kiss and how she brushes his hair before waving on her way out.

 

“I think she loves you,” Aramis mentions casually. A whisper on Porthos' mouth and his fingers gripping the collar of his boyfriend's tee-shirt so he can settle better in between Porthos' spread legs. It's warm there. He'd spend hours on this sofa. Porthos sighs again. The words relax his heart. He thinks she does, too. He thinks he's falling for her.

 

“We all love you,” Aramis adds, a fingernail tracing the edge of Porthos' beard. Tickling the skin of his neck. Around his moustache and under his eyes. Grazing the rough skin of his cheeks, the lines on the corner of his eye when he smiles. Resting on the tip of his nose until Porthos chuckles. Resting on his lips to be kissed.

 

“I told you we'd work it out. He's been troubled by his friends and it's added to how he doesn't like being told no. But he's been saying you were his dad for weeks now and he knows it's all right to think so. He won't hurt you again. And if he does, it'll be in the same way he hurts me or Anne. By being a learning kid.”

 

“I'm tired. Life's been a bitch lately.”

 

Aramis hoists himself up to reach his boyfriend's lips and kiss them. Again and again. Porthos' hand is hot on the small of his back.

 

“I'm sorry, sweetie.”

 

“'Mis....stop saying that. You make it all better. Not worse. Look at what you did in only one hour.”

 

“And I'll do more next week. Because as soon as we've signed those damn papers, I want you to be an actual dad to Mati.”

 

That's thrilling. Porthos is excited to be signing the civil partnership papers. More than he was the first night they talked about it. Anything to be close to Aramis. So if it incidentally makes him closer to Mati, then so be it. But after weeks thinking about it, Porthos isn't doing it only for the adoption. He's doing it for his boyfriend, too.

 

“Can we still sign those papers just because we want to? For the both of us?”

 

“Of course, sweetie. Yes. Sor....Not everything is about Mati, you're right. I want everyone to know who we are to each other and to hell with what they think. We'll drown them with our cheesiness and our happiness. Deal?”

 

“Please.”

 

“It's really been hectic these days, hasn't it?” Aramis reflects, trying to soothe the lines on Porthos' forehead. He's a bit tired, too. Too many emotions. Too many things and people to juggle. Porthos nods and then chuckles when his boyfriend forcefully presses above his nose to make a little crease disappear. “Next week is just for us. I want to be just with you for a while without Mati. It's good being _just_ with you.”

 

Porthos couldn't agree more. He wouldn't have dared suggest it himself. They have so much to learn about handling the type of relationship they are diving in. They'll get better at living it. It's only been a month after all.

 

“I love you, cupcake.”

 

“I love you, too. A whole bunch.”

 

“Read to me?”

 

Aramis grins at the request. It's his favorite thing to do. It calms Porthos. It makes the rest of the world fade away for blissful minutes. He's reading when Anne comes back with his beloved cocktails. He doesn't notice how she stops in the doorway to listen for a few paragraphs. If she could take pictures of Porthos' lax face and his smile and the way he pets Aramis' hair on his chest, or how he helps turning the pages, she would. She does.

 

He's reading when they are interrupted for dinner, that Mati has run a lot on the lawn, that there are grass stains on his trousers and that Aramis has to stop in the novel for an hour or two. Only to see Porthos' friends being awesome with him. To have Mati monopolize his stepfather's lap when they are looking at old pictures from when they were all teenagers. To have Porthos clutch the little waist and Aramis' hand in his when they are sitting at the table. This is why Aramis likes Porthos' friends. They are out-going and loud in the city but as soon as they are out in the country, they unwind and they absolutely love to simply stay indoors and be quiet. Drinking wine and eating sweets and watching cheesy movies.

 

Going to bed early because everything has taken its toll on Porthos even though it often had a happy ending. Saying so to Anne when she comes back from putting Mati to bed, sitting close to Aramis on the large couch. Charon is trying to beat both Athos and Thomas at chess. It isn't going well.

 

“You're welcome to join us if you want to,” Aramis offers Anne, squeezing her hand. She puts a lock of hair behind her ear, grasping the soft fingers. “I mean, we're only going to sleep but....”

 

“I figured.” Porthos looks exhausted.

 

“We'll cuddle.”

 

“Thank you. Tomorrow maybe? Porthos needs you all to himself for some time.”

 

“Have I told you how amazing you are?”

 

“Not today.”

 

Anne smiles, shivering at the lips brushing her ear. It's an exchange of whispers so that the others can't hear anything. Porthos is trying to mess with Athos' strategy, yawning more than he talks.

 

“You are,” Aramis replies. “And I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

It's a delightful feeling to be able to say the words knowing what they truly mean now. The tender kiss to her cheek is enough of a good night one. Anne is glad she has a book close by so she can avoid both Ninon and Flea's scrutiny after Aramis has stood up.

 

He wasn't lying and wouldn't have let her imagine things for the night. The best intimacy the men desire this evening is in the form of simple snuggles. Aramis' chest is an excellent pillow that his boyfriend hugs with mighthy strength. For once, Porthos' hair is the one being petted and it feels wonderful. To be lulled to sleep by gentle reminders about what makes their life awesome. About how much they mean and bring to each other. A catalogue of tiny miracles as far as Porthos is concerned. Anne is one, too.

 

He's not disappointed she isn't with them. She's in his thoughts, her name on their lips. So thoughtful and discerning. The girlfriend everyone would dream about. Porthos didn't realize one heart could accommodate many different types of love. Yet, here he is and they all help and when he drifts to sleep, he forgets about the long car drive. About shouts and broken confidence. About tantrums and hurt feelings.

 

Instead, he dreams about mended emotions, remarkable people. About warmth and the hint of the Spanish lullaby he thinks Aramis was humming.

 

* * *

 

 

However, he wakes up to birds. To open windows, sunshine and a bright new day. To an empty bed after Porthos has patted the sheets. He mumbles his boyfriend's name a few times, to no use. Porthos frowns, sighs, hides his face in his fresh pillow until he has no other choice but to open his eyes. The bedroom itself is empty. As a matter of fact, he can't really hear any human noise in the house.

 

It's late morning, he finds out when he gropes for his phone. A large grin spreads on his face because there's a message from Aramis as well. Porthos cushions his cheek on his hand, snorting at the picture accompanying the text. It's going to be a good day. The face he made in his sleep when Aramis took the photo upon waking up isn't as lovely as his boyfriend would have him believe. His offer to join him for a walk around the lake dates back from an hour, too, so Porthos wonders if that is still an option. He wants Aramis close. He doesn't like waking up and not finding him by his side.

 

First things first, though. And Porthos is famished. He encounters no one on his way to the kitchen, until he reaches the bottom of the stairs and he can hear the children in the play room. They can wait. His stomach cannot.

 

There is fresh juice on the table. Fresh fruit and bread. Brioche and chocolate. The coffee is cold but Porthos munches on muesli while he waits for it to be warmed up. It's quiet in the house, the best setting to wake up nicely. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be completely alone. It's good to collect and arranhe his thoughts. To spare time to be thankful for his luck. For his friends and his family. For all of them. For Nutella and waffles.

 

“Hey there, sleepy head.”

 

Aramis takes his time to stroll to his boyfriend. What a gorgeous thing to see. Pj bottoms riding low on Porthos' hips and his bare chest to lust over. Better than the bare back Aramis admired when he first opened his eyes earlier in bed. The sensitive flesh of his boyfriend's stomach tense at the cool hands closing on it. Aramis steps between Porthos' legs once he's stopped whirling on his stool. He tastes of sugar and strawberry. He also tastes of good sleep and yawns and Aramis likes it a lot.

 

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, forehead resting against Porthos'. His cheeks are also cool under his boyfriend's fingers. Porthos will warm him right up. He's already feeling more complete with Aramis here.

 

“I did. I dreamed of you.”

 

“Sweet dreams, then.”

 

“Yeah.” He kisses him, quietly. Nothing more than their lips touching. Not even moving. “Did you see the ducks?” Aramis is crazy about the animals. And the swans. He keeps a headcount whenever they visit.

 

“I did. They love me.”

 

“They love the bread you bring them.”

 

“Hush. I'm lovable.”

 

“Don't I know it.”

 

“And....I brought those for you.”

 

Aramis hands him a couple of the yellow flowers he had deposited on the table when he came in. Porthos takes them by reflex, baffled by the gesture. He'd assumed they were for one of the girls. For Anne perhaps, wherever she is.

 

“For me? Why?”

 

“Because I love you. And they're pretty like you and I wanted to. Because I care for you. I know it's corny but they smell great and it's relaxing to have flowers around and....”

 

“Nobody's ever given me flowers before,” Porthos cuts him off. It may be the best gesture Aramis has ever done to him. He feels light, invigorated. Astonished, too. Loving it. Aramis' eyes sparkle. “Thank you. They're perfect. What about those?”

 

Porthos points at the smaller daisies.

 

“They're for Anne.”

 

“Does Athos know you're uprooting all the plants in his estate?”

 

“Athos is painting in the forest. He said he needed peace to clear his head.”

 

“Where is everybody else?”

 

“Gone to the farmer's market. I wanted to go but then I wouldn't have been there right now. Charon is fishing.”

 

“Of course he is,” Porthos chuckles. “Do you think we'll have fish for dinner?”

 

He doesn't care if it's cheesy: he keeps on smelling the most beautiful flowers in the world. Now, Aramis' hand is hot when it rubs his naked chest. Best breakfast in a long time. Aramis won't stop smiling, nuzzling Porthos' nose and playing with his fingers. Until there's a commotion outside.

 

“Better get dressed before things get crazy,” Porthos sighs. He also wants to have a very long shower. “This isn't really proper lunch attire.”

 

“I'm not complaining. At all.”

 

Aramis winks, leaning in for a final kiss. Then he decides that he needs to find a vase for the flowers if they want to keep them fresh and perfect until they're back in Paris. But first, they'll decorate their bedroom here. They'd be nice right there on the table where they've dumped phones and wallets and books and notebooks. And a pair of mismatched socks. Daffodils will make a much nicer centerpiece. The thought alone makes Porthos daydream. How extraordinary that something that sweet could power him for the entire day?

 

A frown replaces the grin once Flea suddenly barges in the bedroom after he's taken his shower. She closes the door hastily, looking all spy-like. Porthos' tee-shirt is halfway on and then her nervous eyes are set on him when he's finally fully dressed.

 

“Hey. Did you need something? Charon is still on the lake I guess. How was the market?”

 

“I must tell you what's just happened but it's....you won't like it but....I am _so_ angry.”

 

“.......Okay?”

 

Her frantic pacing, how she runs a hand in her wild hair, how she keeps on glancing at the door as if it was going to burst open, it's making Porthos uneasy, too. Flea watches with disbelief as he busies himself with his shoes to overcome the dreadful feeling she's allowed into the bedroom. She'd fight people if she could for what she has to tell her friend. Her _brother_. She plops onto the bed and bounces a little on the mattress.

 

“Aramis gave Anne some flowers.”

 

“Is that all? I know. He picked some for me, too. He was going to ask Ninon for a vase.”

 

“They didn't know I was around when he did, though and he....she kissed him when he did! I suppose they thought they were alone but he didn't push her away!”

 

Flea hisses, spitting venom for a woman she knew she was right to doubt. She also hates Aramis for lying to Porthos. She hates how she has to hurt him by telling him the truth. Instead, he doesn't look more anguished by the revelation. If anything, he looks calmer, going back to tying his shoes.

 

“It's fine, Flea.”

 

“No, it's not! You don't understand! I don't mean an innocent kiss on the cheek. I mean on the _mouth_. And Aramis kissed her back!”

 

“I heard you. Flea, calm down. It's fine.”

 

“Porthos, what is wrong with you? Of course it isn't!”

 

It's almost a shriek and Porthos realizes he definitely has to explain everything to her now. She's getting herself all worked up for nothing. Except that she sounds so mad that he doesn't manage to interrupt her. Or to stop her from baring her teeth and flinging her arms. Flea is almost stomping, fuming in his face.

 

“Your _boyfriend_ is kissing somebody else. He's ruining everything you've built together! Do something! Be mad!”

 

“I can't be, Flea. Listen to me. It's fine.”

 

“Stop saying that, you idiot! Cheating is never 'fine'!”

 

She snaps, her fingers trembling when she makes the quotation marks in the air. Porthos can't remember the last time she was in such a rage. It's a Flea thing to do, to want to protect her closest friends and family but it's leading nowhere. He grabs her wrist and in her exasperation, Flea stumbles against him.

 

“You're idly standing by and letting them waste you away, Porthos! Why would you do that? Be angry, dammit! Gosh, I hate them!”

 

“No, you don't. Coz I don't either.”

 

“You cannot give up like that! Do something!”

 

“Flea, look at me,” he urges her, clutching her shoulder so she will do just that. “Why are you so concerned about that?”

 

“Why am I.....Geez. Because you had love and you had a family, with a child that you love and who adores you in spite of how much he gets on your nerves. You had everything I've always wanted and can't have and these jerks are taking it away from you. They're selfish and the worst and you're an idiot for letting them!”

 

“Hold on. What do you mean you can't have what I have?”

 

Flea's voice is trembling now. From frustration and hatred perhaps. From incomprehension. But from far broader emotions than the scene she's encountered downstairs. There wouldn't be tears in her eyes otherwise. She can overreact, she's Flea, but she never, ever cries. Porthos has never seen her do so in all the years they've spent together.

 

“We're talking about you,” she dismisses his question. “It doesn't matter.”

 

“I think it does. Because you see, I'm not angry about that kiss. I know they do it and I'm okay with it. Nobody is cheating.”

 

“What do you mean?” Flea gasps and chokes on her breath. She swallows thickly, gripping the fingers holding hers. There's distress in her gaze that Porthos can clearly notice. Her chest heaves. So do her shoulders.

 

“We're dating Anne. The both of us. We've been for a couple of weeks. They're kissing, I'm kissing her, too.”

 

“She's....she's not stealing Aramis?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“She's your.....your what? Your girlfriend?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“And you're okay with it? You're not jealous or anything?”

 

He used to be so possessive of his people. He still is sometimes. Of his friends and his boyfriend. It's a puzzling idea that he wouldn't mind sharing Aramis with Anne. Porthos shrugs.

 

“I thought I'd be yet so far so good. And she's great, you know.”

 

“So you keep on saying. I can imagine why now. Gosh, I've made a fool of myself. And I called them jerks.”

 

Flea sniffs loudly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes are red, her cheeks are as well. She's still a little bit furious but calming down slowly. This, she would have never imagined.

 

“You couldn't know,” Porthos says quietly. She's forgiven.

 

“You could have told us.”

 

“We were going to. You beat me to it.”

 

“I suppose now I really do have to befriend her, don't I?”

 

“You don't have to do anything, even if yeah, she'll hopefully be around quite often.”

 

“As long as she isn't trying to break you guys up.”

 

“You really were worried about that, weren't you?”

 

“I'm your big sister, silly. Yes, I was.”

 

She punches his shoulder slightly, trying to smile faintly. Once her anger will have subsided, Flea is certain they'll laugh about it. For now, she's the one feeling like an idiot. At least Porthos is the only one with her.

 

“Come here.”

 

Porthos' face breaks into a goofy smile. He knew he had nothing to fear about her reaction to the news. His arms close around her for a fierce hug. She's somewhat tinier and thinner than he remembered. That is not good.

 

“I'm happy with her,” he explains. “Happier with Aramis because of it. It would have actually destroyed all three of us if we hadn't acknowledged our feelings. Thank you for having my back, though.”

 

Flea seems to sink against him, her mind still attempting to comprehend the new state of her friend's relationship. That he is in no danger of having his heart broken. She was so frightened she would ruin the weekend and the rest of Porthos' life even though she was doing it for his own good. Her heart hammers in her chest but Porthos is a giant teddy bear and his embrace is comforting.

 

“Your turn now. Sit down,” Porthos decides, tugging on her arm until she sinks on the unmade bed next to him.

 

“My turn to do what?”

 

“To tell me what's been bothering you. Why can't you have what I have? The family? You have Charon, you'll get there someday. And don't say you don't want to discuss it,” he adds when she starts shaking her head. “Please. I'm worried about you, too, Flea.”

 

Her mouth is half-open to refuse this talk again although she's aware he won't let her go this time. She's been too bitchy lately and they grew up together. She does loathe opening up about this, though. She wishes her boyfriend could be here with them.

 

Porthos is patient, letting the silence stretch between them. Allowing her to breathe and chew on her lip. To wring her hands and recline against his touch on her back. This time she'll probably cry for real and there's no point trying not to. It's happened quite often when she's alone with Charon.

 

“Because I can't. Have children, that is.” It's a really soft whisper. Each word hurts.

 

“Well, you don't want any. Neither do Athos and Ninon. It's like nobody wants kids anymore.”

 

“I'm allowed to change my mind about that, aren't I? And it's one thing to not want them. It's another totally different one to have doctors tell you you can never, ever, get pregnant!” She spits back, leaning away from him. It's easier to be bitter about it. She'll apologize later. She's mad at the entire world. Not only at Porthos or at Anne for having everything Flea can never claim for herself.

 

Porthos is speechless for awful long minutes after that. He has no idea what to say, because he'd certainly screw it up again. Tactless and unprepared for such a confession. How long has she known this? How long has it been since she would swing from being her happy self to being sour about life? Quite a few weeks. A couple of months perhaps now that he reflects on it. There's only one thing he can do. He reaches for her again and if Flea could live in hugs for the rest of the day, she would. That way, Porthos can't see the silent tears.

 

“I'm sorry, Flea. I'm really sorry. Does Charon know? Of course, he does,” he corrects hastily. What a stupid question to ask. “Sorry. It's gonna be okay, you know? Not right now and maybe not for a long time but one day it'll be. And you'll always have me.”

 

She tries to laugh when he hands her a tissue but it comes out as a choked snort. Yes, they'll have each other since they can't rely on any other sort of family. She used to claim children weren't for her because they as kids never had natural parents to take care of them. But now, she's been changing her opinion. It would have been perfect. To have children and be as wonderful with them as the people who abandoned her and Charon never were. It'll never happen.

 

“And besides, look at me,” Porthos goes on, thrilled to be able to give his explanation. “I've a child without ever making one. Isn't that crazy? And I've a dad, an actual one, even if he isn't my natural one. If one day you really change your mind, you know you can still be a mom. An exceptional one at that.”

 

“Yes, I'm aware. I just.....I guess it was always an option for the far away future but now it definitely isn't and even Charon is upset about it. He tries not to show it but he is and it's....it's not my fault but I feel a little guilty nonetheless. So when I thought that you were going to lose everything....”

 

“Hey, I love you, Flea. You are the best, most remarkable sister I could ever have wished for. You're crazy and you're funny and you're going to be an incredible aunt from now on and one day you'll give Mati's cousins. Even if they don't look like you. Mati and I look nothing alike.”

 

“He scrunches his nose like you when he smells food in his plate he isn't sure about.”

 

“Does he?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Seeing Porthos with his stepson is magical, even when they argue and the boy tries to fight back. It stirs things inside of Flea she wasn't even aware she was capable of feeling. And it has only increased since she received that terrible news. It has shaken her resolve and of course, now she desires what she can never have. What Anne has. What Porthos is getting, too. One day she'll stop resenting them for it. She's working on it.

 

The look on her friend's face when she tells the little things she's noticed between him and Mati is enough for now. The pride and happiness in Porthos' eyes. Feelings she'll get to experience one day, only not in the way she'd love to.

 

“You know you can always come to me, you and Charon. Even if my life is busier than ever. There'll always be time for the two of you. I'm sorry I was less available these past weeks but we'll change that. I can accommodate everyone.”

 

“A boyfriend, a girlfriend, a child and us?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

 

“It's never scared me.” Porthos bumps into her shoulder and then Flea manages to laugh a little more heartily. He feels so sorry for her that he has no idea what to do or say to make her lively again. Life sucks. “You're not sick, though, are you?” He suddenly fears.

 

“No, I'm not. I just can't have children.”

 

Life still sucks but at least Flea isn't subjected to more mental torture and physical pain. There's a silver lining to every bad news.

 

“I'm not much help but what would you like? Do you want to be by yourself for a while?”

 

“Please, no.”

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“......I could eat it. Catherine and your Anne bought some interesting cheese earlier.”

 

“Let's get some food into you then, shall we? We'll all feel better once we've eaten.”

 

His hand is so warm in hers that she wishes it would never disappear. It's only when it's replaced by Charon's when they are downstairs that Flea feels completely better again. Not at her best because she can never be lately, but better. Improved by the quickly-applied make-up to hide her red eyes. Improved for having told Porthos. He's so cautious when he looks at her, when he hugs Charon out of the blue yet can't explain why because the others certainly don't know what happened to Flea.

 

They're the best of siblings, though. Brought together by something more meaningful than blood and they'll stick together through all the hardships of life. Porthos is resolute to balance every aspect of his life with even more care than he used to.

 


	17. The Hot Tub

Once Flea is safe with Charon, mingling in the midst of all their friends and finding distractions to try to forget the talk they've just had, even for a few minutes, Porthos can truly realize everything they've discussed in his bedroom. Not that Flea needs protection of any sort. She's always been the strongest of them all, ever since Porthos can remember. What great impression she made on his little mind when he first arrived at the orphanage. All the times she was waiting for him outside of school after Tréville adopted him, simply to make sure that the other teenagers wouldn't dare bully him.

 

It used to embarrass Porthos because he was old enough to defend himself, thank you very much, and most of the students were too scared of him to even start a conversation. Athos probably only did because his parents urged him to be nice, for once. After that, when they couldn't do anything without the other either in class or outside, Flea and Charon were still coming but more to assess and be in awe with the broody kid Porthos had managed to acquire as a friend.

 

What struck Porthos with Flea today was how vulnerable she looked once she admitted what was bothering her. It takes a lot to get to her, strengthened that she is by a difficult life that she's always tried to make the best of. To see that not being able to have children could affect her so tremendously, it saddens him, too. Not that he can ever understand the feeling but she's Flea, she's his family and her sadness if not anger has rippling effects on him.

 

Porthos stands by what he said, that it'll get better eventually. Even though he isn't an expert at getting pregnant, he's nonetheless sure he is one at overcoming whatever crap life throws in your way. Flea and Charon are one and they've been for so many years -decades now- that they'll get through it. They're doing a good job already.

 

It doesn't stop Porthos from chewing on his lip, hands set on his hips while he watches the others hurry to the dining toom. Aramis has to stand very close in front of him to be noticed. So close their chests are practically touching. When Porthos does notice him, the dark shadow in his eyes vanishes quickly and the warm arms circling his waist make him focus again. Aramis will always make him smile.

 

“Hey, cupcake.”

 

“Is everything all right?”

 

Aramis couldn't help noticing. He's very good at reading people and now more than ever, very attuned to his boyfriend and his well-being. Even if he can't prevent bad things from happening and he can't prevent the world from being unfair, Aramis can at least make sure that he's close-by and available to have Porthos' back. Always.

 

“With us? Yes, absolutely. Everything's perfectly swell.”

 

In saying so, Porthos unclenches his fists to let them roam up Aramis' chest until his fingers graze the skin of his boyfriend's neck. Light touches which make Aramis sigh and practically purr as he closes his eyes. He leans against the fingers touching his hair. The lush yet shorter curls that Porthos almost regrets not being able to untie any ponytail. It'll grow back soon enough.

 

Aramis sinks against the other's chest, lips on Porthos'. Long, tender kisses and a soft mouth opening so readily that Aramis would get lost in it. It's true, though. That for the past weeks, between the two of them, there haven't been any big fights or any of the misunderstandings there used to be before they cleared things up with Anne. It's a blessing and it's perfect indeed. More comfortable and a far better atmosphere to live in. It makes them stronger to handle what comes from outside of their relationship.

 

“Flea freaked out earlier,” Porthos says, leaving her personal problems out. Aramis would try not to pry if he knew she wasn't feeling well, but he's Aramis and he'd fail. It's better not to say anything.

 

“About?”

 

“You and Anne. She caught you kissing. She thought you were cheating on me.”

 

“I'd never!”

 

Their lips were still brushing until he jerked his head back, appalled by the idea.

 

“And I made it pretty clear that you wouldn't. She's calmed down once I explained what was happening. She's good now.”

 

“And?”

 

“And what?”

 

“How did she take the news?”

 

Porthos was anxious, which means that Aramis also was and if they are honest, Flea was probably the person whose opinion mattered the most.

 

“Like I said, she's good,” Porthos repeats. “She was worried Anne wanted you all to herself and you were going to break my heart.”

 

“She was looking out for you. See? I told you, sweetie. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Porthos nods at the tinkle in Aramis' eye and then Aramis comes back for a more ferocious kiss, hands dipping in the back pockets of Porthos' jeans. Aramis sucks on his boyfriend's bottom lip, nips at it a bit, waiting for the other to retaliate. And when Porthos does, tongue deep in Aramis' mouth, he makes him gasp and moan.

 

“She's certainly -hell, I think she must have already. Told Charon. We should tell the others. I'd rather they learned it from us.”

 

“Yes, that may be for the best. You do it,” Aramis decides, winking. “Since you started, you might as well finish it.”

 

Porthos snorts at the resolute tone and Aramis' silly smile. It fills his heart with a feeling of joy that is so profund that nothing could get to him. So long as Aramis is here and that he has no intention of abandoning his boyfriend. Porthos holds on to handful of curly hair, stifling Aramis' giggles with his lips again.

 

“Geez, get a room,” Athos mutters, strolling by with dirty fingers and a starving stomach.

 

There's paint even on his face that Porthos refrains from pointing out. He hardly lets go of Aramis at the interruption. They do stop kissing and that's enough already.

 

“I can't believe it's been three years and I still have to tell you both this. Don't you ever take a break?” Athos complains once more.

 

“Two years,” Aramis corrects, patting Porthos on the ass and finally letting go entirely to attempt to catch a glance at the painting their host won't let him look at. “We've been together for two years. Not three.”

 

Sometimes, it feels like far longer. Forever. Without the boredom of a long existence spent together. Deep understanding, a lot of talking and their minds so in sync. Their desires for the long-term, too, now that they've discussed everything that was happening in their life lately. There was chaos for a while but now they're learning and they're improving. It's easy to include someone else in their relationship because of it. A new partner like Anne who now that she can freely state what she wants, feels like a part of themselves.

 

“Honestly, Athos, don't you keep track of your art? How could you forget when you met the most wonderful model of your career?” Porthos jokes, leading the way to their friends, the awaited food and the drinks. Athos scowls.

 

“I've been trying to forget that I ever saw your boyfriend naked. Surely, you can't object to that.”

 

“Yes, please. Forget that. You've a superb ass, 'mis,” Porthos whispers so loud his best friend can hear it anyway and glowers. “But it doesn't belong in _his_ mind.”

 

“On that we agree,” Athos mumbles.

 

Aramis is once again giggling because of their exchange when they find their way to the dining room. Once upon a time, Porthos had hated Athos' art because of how exposed Aramis had been to strangers, to those who came to the art gallery. But that was when Porthos was still insecure, that he was afraid that their relationship wasn't steady. That he was terrified that a man he was growing extremely attached to could decide to leave him for somebody else. He's worked on that a lot and besides, he knows Aramis enough to have realized long ago that the attachement was mutual and that it wouldn't be broken so easily. Not even the first debacle with Anne managed to pull them apart.

 

So Aramis loves that there is no drama today. No shouts and no tragedies. Only friendly banter, best friends pestering one another. Lovely weather and flowers.

 

They are the first thing that Porthos notices: the most beautiful flowers in the universe, in a splendid vase on the dining table. Along with his, there are Anne's daisies and they are superb together. Blending in. A mix of great colors, soft yellow and sharp orange and they were picked up with love so they are as meaningful as the radiant smile Anne is giving him once he finally sets his eyes on her.

 

For the first time today. He's been needing his boyfriend more because of Mati's outburst and all the bullshit of the past week but seeing her invigorated face from the hours at the farmer's market, seeing her in an animated conversation with Ninon and Catherine, at ease with the acquaintances and Porthos hopes, the friends, she is making, it also makes him realize that he's sort of missed her. Even if it was only for a short time.

 

Her eyes do light up when she can decide for herself that he's in better shape today. Not that she didn't trust Aramis but she's more satisfied now. It starts low in her guts, the strong impulse and longing to spring to her feet and go to him. They said it was okay even if the others didn't know the state of their relationship. That they would discover it through the attentions and affection Anne and the men would bestow upon one another.

 

She's thinking of an excuse to leave the girls yet she isn't the only one who has noticed the latest arrival.

 

“Hi, Papá! Hi, Porfos!”

 

Mati waves from the smaller table where the three children are already eating with the baby-sitter. He has a Winnie the Pooh napkin tied around his neck and an outrageous pile of French fries in his plate. His fingers shine with saliva and salt. Porthos would almost be jealous: it's making him hungrier. Yet, he can only wave back, yesterday tantrum a faint memory which led to great developments in the end so Porthos will manage to forget the painful sting he suffered from for an hour.

 

Especially when Mati gives his parents more reasons to be proud.

 

“Porfos is my second dad,” he clarifies for the twins, nodding eagerly, stuffing his face. Now that his Papá said that it was true and because Mati loves Porfos very much, almost as much as Mamá or Papá, then he wants to say it all the time. It's fun and it's cool and Papá said not everybody had a Porfos and that makes Mati unique and he loves that.

 

Porthos starts by Aramis' side until one arm circles his waist. There's no mistaking the wide smile on his boyfriend's face, how it illuminates the entire room and how proud he is of his son. This, Porthos may never get used to. Such innocence and honesty coming from the little child. Two simple words that sound better than _I love you_ in any language. Mati acknowledging this truth may be his stepfather's biggest achievement so far.

 

“You have two dads?” Charles gasps, looking at his new friend with wide eyes and a round-shaped mouth.

 

“Yes! We play football and we dance and we eat chocolate!”

 

“But I only have one dad....”

 

“I have two. And Mamá.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes! I've two homes but Mamá sleeps with us sometimes and we have sleepovers and play.”

 

“Wow.” Charles sound so impressed that it's the only thing that he can say. His brother takes over.

 

“I want two dads, too!”

 

“Well, you can't have mine.” Mati is categoric on this, shaking his head so that blond curls flash in front of his eyes. Aramis laughs out loud, and so does Anne, taking advantage of the moment to stand up and weave her way to her boyfriends.

 

It's a sight, to have this aspect of their life so easily accepted by children. Porthos realizes he's also blessed that his friends never gave their kids any definite ideas about family like it happened with that boy Mati met at the birthday party. It's healthier and it doesn't make his heart thud with apprehension.

 

“Maman!” Olivier shrills, setting his fork down. “Maman! I want two dads, too!”

 

“I'm afraid that won't happen, darling,” his mother declines.

 

“But, Maman! Two dads! That's cool!”

 

“I only love your father, Olivier.”

 

“Love another!”

 

“That's not for you to decide. You'll have to make do with the both of us. We still love you a lot.”

 

Her son sulking in his plate is an adorable sight and none of the adults can't resist smiling and even laughing at the exchange which halted all the other conversations. Catherine bends down to give her son a kiss because he's too cute, then of course she has to also give one to Charles who seems like he is trying to find new arguments to convince her. Mati keeps on eating, chewing so loudly that even Porthos can hear it.

 

“Are we going on the horses, Porfos?” he nonetheless asks after he's swallowed a large moutful.

 

“You bet we are.”

 

“When, Porfos? Now?”

 

“Don't you want your fries anymore? Thank you, then.”

 

Porthos steals some greasy ones fom the boy's plate before Mati can realize it and they are so tasty that he hopes there are leftovers for their own lunch. There are.

 

“Mamá!” Mati shrieks, outraged.

 

“What is it, sweetheart?”

 

“Porfos took my fries!”

 

“Did he now? That's because they're mighty delicious, I'm sure.”

 

Anne shares an amused glance with Porthos above blond curls and earns herself more plaintive shouts when she also helps herself to her son's plate. There's a mischievous spark in her clear eyes. She looks so happy with them, with everybody for these few days that Porthos is glad she didn't hesitate to accept the invitation. That she's taking whatever plunge she used to be afraid to take. He's so glad that now that she's close, he leans to give her a kiss on the cheek while Mati has resorted to complaining to his father since his other parents are ignoring him.

 

The spontaneity of the kiss surprises Anne in the most pleasant way. It's exactly what she was seeking. After all, she hasn't been alone with Porthos since the previous afternoon and back then, it wasn't for the most romantic or intimate reasons. She's had some interludes with Aramis over the course of the morning but being near Porthos again, even surrounded by his friends, is relaxing and it was missed. And for him to be bold and not caring about how this gesture might be interpreted, it may not seem out of place, but it is for Anne who wasn't expecting it.

 

It's nice, though, and she smiles in response. Smiles at him and searches for any discomfort left from the previous day. There is none, she believes. Porthos is so good at overcoming his problems and stating loud and clear what he wants in life. Be it with physical attention or with words. Anne gathers strength from it. She's been for weeks.

 

There's a hug following the light kiss, Porthos leaning further so that he can whisper in her ear and hastily explain what's happened with Flea. They said no to big announcements but there is no other way now, and once she's past the shivers of his lips touching her skin and his warm breath in her neck, Anne finds that she agrees. She'll be more comfortable with him, with Aramis, with her hosts, when they know the truth.

 

“There's something you need to know,” Porthos says louder for everybody else.

 

He keeps her close, wrapping one arm around her waist and Anne feels safe in spite of the pang of nervosity in her chest. That's unlike her but she wants to fit in their group. She wants to be accepted as more than simply Mati's mother. In a sense, she already is but that doesn't stop her from dreading how they could judge her relationship with the men, how ever resolute her mind.

 

“Flea knows and by now, I suppose so does Charon,” Porthos adds and it's confirmed by a tilt of his friend's head. He'd tell him to lose the sly smile but coming from Charon, it's as good a validation as he'll get. “I'm dating, Anne. So is Aramis. We're dating, the three of us and that's it.”

 

He lets it hang in the air for a few seconds, scanning the faces of those who were still in the unknown. Aramis bumps into his side, one hand in the back pocket of Porthos' jeans, those pants that he loves so much. Porthos can feel Anne trying to breathe steadily and he's about to tell her to calm down when he finally notices the large smile on Ninon's face. The one which hasn't stopped growing since he started talking.

 

“Did you....I guess you knew before I said it, didn't you?” he asks, baffled. She's Ninon, though. He's never been able to hide any of his emotions from her. Neither has Athos. It's like she's a mind-reader.

 

“She thought something was sketchy,” Athos mumbles.

 

“Not sketchy. Different. I thought there was something out of the ordinary between you.”

 

“You saw that just with yesterday?”

 

It shouldn't astonish Porthos coming from her and her perfect behavior skills but even for her, that's fast. Yesterday was such a turmoil. Hearing no criticism and knowing that his affection shows even when he isn't feeling well, it relaxes Porthos. He's comforted by the noises of the oblivious children and Anne's fingers threading with his. She's a little light-headed but one glance at Aramis and she feels more like herself.

 

“I saw it at the museum,” Ninon specifies. That bewilders the three of them more. One evening with someone she'd never met before and she could see the new dynamics woven between them. At a time when they weren't as close as they are today. “I'd never seen people so proud of somebody else when you were giving your speech, Anne. And it was written all over your faces. I mean, I'd never met you before so it was the very first thing I noticed.”

 

“I didn't see anything!” Alice chimes in, raising her hand, rather surprised by the news but they all more or else are. Porthos looks and sounds so content with the others that it makes her happy for him as well. Who would have thought he would be comfortable in such a lifestyle? She wouldn't. She's not even great with one partner. “That sounds like an awful lot of work, though.”

 

Athos has to nod to agree at her remark and how she scrunches her nose. It's Porthos' life and it's a tremendous change from the one he had before Aramis. If that is what he needs to be happy and fulfilled, why not? But one relationship with Ninon is already enough. Two partners and a child seem like hell and Athos will never crave any of it. He loves being alone too much to be constantly with people who demand attention and love.

 

“But now, you're Porthos' girlfriend, aren't you?” Alice exclaims, clapping her hands and bouncing on her chair, all excited. “Oh, I have so many things to tell you! Come here!”

 

Rosy cheeks and bright smile, Anne chuckles at how she pats the chair to her right to invite her. Alice wasn't the person who spoke to her the most yesterday. They are basically strangers and they had nothing in common, even though Anne knew that she was Porthos' ex and that they were still in great terms. The revelation must have changed the dynamics and Porthos frowns.

 

“What are you going to tell her?”

 

“Things. Girl things.”

 

His frown intensifies and Alice laughs out loud, patting the chair to her left so he can come and keep an eye on her, too. Another gentle kiss on Anne's cheek and a squeeze of her waist later, they are both listening to Alice's stories and Porthos spends so much of their lunch cutting her off and urging her to eat instead of ditching secrets. The sound of Anne's laughter fills his ear, now that she is relieved that there've been none of the degrading remarks she'd been trying to prepare for.

 

It's a fantastic lunch, followed by a fantastic afternoon and Anne feels more serene now. Able to enjoy the sun room, the tea and coffee to their fullest. They're waiting for Porthos to ride out with Mati on the lawn so that the boy can wave to his parents. He was so eager there was no room for a nap. Anne is terrified of horses, would never take to horseback riding when she was younger so if her son enjoys it and has at least one parent to take care of him, she's all for it.

 

He's kissed her fully on the lips before going to the stables, before kissing Aramis. Thrilled to do so in plain sight of the others, like they'd planned to since deciding they were ready to tell them the truth about their relationship. Porthos is overjoyed that the weekend is taking a turn for the best. They all are. Anne can feel his mouth on hers even when he's long gone, always dazed by the simplest of affection. It warms her more than the sun in her face or Aramis' dozing bulk against her shoulder.

 

“It's much better now I'd say, isn't it?” Ninon mentions, watching Aramis play with Anne's braid, his eyes closed and an empty mug precariously set on the couch. He hums a yes. He's stuffed and he, for one, wouldn't say no to some sleep. “I figured. I mean, I wanted to hear the rest of that story you started telling us at the museum, but...”

 

“It was so gore I couldn't fall asleep last night,” Alice complains and Aramis chuckles, then he yawns. Anne is a talented storyteller. He shifts on the couch so that his cheek is cushioned on Anne's shoulder. This is a cozy spot.

 

“...I assumed you'd like to spend some time with your men, too. Away from the city,” Ninon continues talking to Anne, never minding her friend except for a smile.

 

Anne likes the sound of that: her men. It's a nice way to phrase it and Ninon is a remarkable woman indeed. Kind and considerate and Anne could have seen herself befriending her even if she had just remained Mati's mother and hadn't had feelings for her men. She also loves how considerate Ninon has been. They're all so thankful for her invitation although Porthos was prepared to demand that Anne tagged along anyway because he couldn't bear the idea of imagining her alone in Paris without them or without her son for four entire days of vacation.

 

“Thank you.” She hasn't lost her smiles since before lunch and she has no idea when she'll stop feeling ecstatic. Hopefully it will remain like this for as long as they're able. No troubles. Understanding people surrounding her and no judgmental looks or words.

 

“I know I won't be here next weekend but if you can still make it like Athos offered, Alice will most gladly keep you company.”

 

“And Flea, too. We have so much to talk about now. Without the boys around.”

 

“I heard you,” Aramis mumbles but none of the women take note of it. If anything, Anne pats his arm fondly.

 

“Thank you,” she says instead. She'd love to be back. The estate is amazing and there are so many things she hasn't seen or visited yet. It's like a small bubble of oxygen and peace in a busy life. She can picture herself coming here as often as Porthos and Aramis do. “I hope. If I can find someone to watch Mati.”

 

Athos very clearly specified that he didn't want any children in his house if his sister-in-law didn't bring hers and if he didn't have Ninon to vent to.

 

“We will,” comes the drowsy promise from Aramis. He mouths at Anne's blouse when he speaks and absolutely abhorres how she nudges him in the ribs as she sits up straight.

 

“Here they come! Go take pictures, Aramis.”

 

He grumbles that he is half asleep and that he doesn't want to move yet he does precisely what Anne asks him eventually. Shuffling on his feet and kissing her. In spite of the distance, there's no mistaking how over the moon her son looks on the horse, at ease even if it's the first time. Only when his shrills for Porthos to actually race Flea who rides next to them while the boy he's still on the horse reach her, does Anne stand up, too to go outside. Not on her watch. That is very scary. Porthos won't have none of it either and another lap of the entire ground settles the child.

 

“Are you all living together?” Alice inquires, curious and free to ask more interesting questions for the short respite when neither Porthos nor Aramis are with them. She's not interested in this way of life in the slightest but it doesn't mean she doesn't want the specifics of the arrangment.

 

“No. It's too soon. And I'm so used to living alone that I need my space.”

 

As far as Anne is concerned, she'd be okay never moving in with the men. Looking forward to date nights and outings is compelling. It gives her butterflies in her stomach to know she'll spend hours with them. She doesn't want this feeling to go away. Besides, having her own place entitles her to weeks without Mati and against all odds, she's grown fond of those. Anne has time for work-out and crafty activities and the occasional drinks with Constance or her colleagues.

 

“Well, anyhow, still too much effort for me. But good for you! More love and more cuddles! So long as you don't hurt my Porthos.”

 

Anne wipes her head around at that, only to find Alice grinning and offering her more chocolate. She'd heard of the tight family circle his friends made but she'll need more time to adjust. They are nothing like the friends she has in Spain. They're more natural. They're a reflection of everything that she is drawn to in Porthos. Carefree and loving life and not taking themselves too seriously. It's refreshing and yes, she wants to come back.

 

To witness her son's glee and his awe at the animals. At the indoor swimming pool in which he can get the swimming he fussed about the previous afternoon. To give Porthos a kiss to congratulate him on his victory in the two races against both Athos and Flea. To feel her cheeks flush with delight at their close proximity and how it doesn't bother anyone. To realize that she's comfortable with her two boyfriends in the midst of others who are aware of their relationship, something that they'd never done until today.

 

To relish in her heart stuttering at Aramis snuggling with Porthos after dinner, when the kids are too exhausted to pester their parents and they have retired to their bedroom to leave only quiet in their wake. To imagine what they are whispering to each other, seeing only their lips move. Their fingers grazing and their legs tangling.

 

To surprisingly be included in a conversation by Flea, who seems genuinely interested in knowing her better. It's nothing different from Alice except that Flea used to always stare at her in the past, more interested in Mati than in his mother. To listen as she jokes about how last time they were in the house, Porthos and Aramis fell asleep in the very same armchair and then blamed the others for their sore necks and backs because they didn't wake them up to go to bed.

 

All these little things which slowly make Anne aware that the kind of love she wants from her boyfriends may not be conventional and there may be people scorning her for it, it won't quite affect her so long as she's accepted by the ones who truly matter. Deep in her heart it was the reaction and consequences she was yearning and hoping for despite a little nervosity and it comforts her in her choices, in her faith in humanity. In the assurance that she's making the right choice. It'd still be even if no one accepted it but it's easier like this.

 

* * *

 

“Are you still up for cuddles?” Aramis asks in her ear at one point. “Or more?”

 

He's standing rather close, almost flushed to her, his warm hand on the small of her back while she stands by the bookcase browsing the novels. Anne hasn't forgotten the offer she declined the night before. It didn't fit their mood. Tonight, though, it's definitely something she'd enjoy. To finally be alone with the men after an eventful couple of days.

 

There's hardly anyone else downstairs. Athos is fiddling with his camera in a corner, showing Ninon more pictures of the sunrise and pondering what to edit. On the other hand, she strongly disagrees and the shots should be left alone. Athos scowls and shakes his head, not budging when his girlfriend rests her head in the crook of his neck. He can complain as long and as often as he wants about how tiresome romantic involvement is, Porthos still finds his best friend adorable and comfortable. At last.

 

Athos and Ninon don't even raise their eyes at Aramis and Anne wishing them good night, walking out hand in hand. They give their boyfriend an inspiriting vision, Anne hanging on to Aramis' arm.

 

“Will you finish that?” Porthos points to the bottle of champagne which has hardly been touched.

 

“I don't want any on the bedsheets,” is Athos' only answer.

 

“As if you were the one cleaning them.”

 

“Still.”

 

“No worries. It'll be empty by then. And we called dibs on the hot tub tonight.” He winks and Athos frowns. This time he spares a moment to glare at the other yet a corner of his mouth lifts into a grin.

 

“Don't you go defiling it again.”

 

“When have I ever?” Porthos says back, faking to sound offended.

 

“That's also something I've been trying to forget and it's been years.”

 

Porthos tries not to laugh at the disgust in his best friend's voice but fails. There's always been so much fun in this estate. He has to go and try to give him a hug without Athos pushing Ninon away or harming her to avoid the onslaught of affection. She's clever enough to withdraw on her own, letting her boyfriend be trapped in a corner.

 

“You're choking me, you monster!”

 

“Aww, you poor, poor silly goose.”

 

“Get out of my sight!”

 

“Gladly. Good night, Ninon.” Porthos makes to tip an imaginary hat.

 

“And leave that champagne now,” Athos decides, going back on his first decision to let the others have it. It's not a heartfelt order and Porthos doesn't follow it.

 

He's light-hearted tonight, excited to have some private time with the others and to do so without any threat or dread hanging above their heads. For a few hours, Porthos will be impervious to outside attacks and to disturbing thoughts. He'll be oblivious to anything which doesn't involve Aramis or Anne. Nothing will matter but his half-naked boyfriend and his girlfriend adjusting the bikini which is still wet from their afternoon swim with the children.

 

Porthos takes it all in. The gorgeous figures and the lingering hand on Anne's neck after Aramis has helped her out. His mouth waters just looking at them.

 

“Smuggled us some of this.” He shows off the bottle and the glasses.

 

Aramis licks his lips at the prospect. Licks them again as he assists Porthos in taking off his clothes. Bunching up Porthos' tee-shirt, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, pulling on them so they pool on the floor. He drops a soft kiss below Porthos' ear, his hands damp on his boyfriend's hips. Rubbing the skin, grazing the underwear which can perfectly act as swim wear for tonight.

 

The water is exceptionally hot, bubbling all around Anne, up to her shoulders when she sinks in it. There are pretty lights in the hot tub. She hadn't forgotten that promise Aramis made yesterday either. Not much can beat cuddles. Cuddling in a jacuzzi does. Cuddling in a jacuzzi with champagne does it even more. Especially when it's as good as the one she sips on.

 

The rumble of the water splashing against her skin is overwhelming. If Anne closes her eyes, it's all she can make out. It's peaceful and steady. It's relaxing and it's an excellent reward to the events of the weekend, good or bad. She chuckles thinking back on how easy it was to come out as dating the men. How accepting everyone else was, dismissing whatever fear she could have.

 

Porthos and Aramis are staring at her, at the cute sound as she opens her eyes. She's beautiful in the dimmed light, her white skin reflecting in the water and the light foam. The colors illuminating spots of her bare flesh. It makes them forget whatever they could have wanted to talk about. It makes them want more than cuddles. Their fond if not hungry gaze makes her giggle again, from euphoria. Not because of the alcohol, even though it's so incredibly tasty and she drinks some more.

 

“Come here,” Aramis invites her, water spraying on his chest when he beckons her closer. He waits for her to slide next to him without hesitating to wrap an arm around her waist.

 

There is so much flesh to admire that Anne never knows where to rest her eyes. Or where to touch first. She still has so much to explore and discover. She shifts closer at Aramis' fingers on her thigh. Not invading and so welcome. It tickles in the water but she wouldn't dare tell him to stop. They've only spent one night apart since the last time they've shared a bed and these are the kinds of touches that can awaken her body so fast Anne feels dizzy.It's cozy and they're quiet except for the occasional hums of approval when Porthos kisses Aramis.

 

Slowly at first because there is no hurry and his boyfriend smells delightful. Porthos lets his tongue touch everywhere inside of Aramis' mouth. He lets it roll around the other's. He teases Aramis into wanting more. Short pecks on the lips that aren't nearly enough. Aramis pushes against Porthos' mouth, dragging his beard down the side of his neck before going back up for another kiss.

 

Aramis' hand is still on Anne's stomach and he clutches her swimming suit, burying the other in Porthos' hair. Caressing it, his neck, his shoulder, his chest. The wet yet hardening nipples and how Porthos' muscles tense at the brush. Such a great reaction, Porthos' head falling back against the side of the hot tub, his mouth open for him to drawl at his boyfriend sucking on his pulse point, rubbing tender nipples so thoroughly.

 

Aramis stops for a second when he feels Anne touching his own chest, adjusting so that she can see how Porthos enjoys being taken care of, even with the smallest of caresses. How much he must need it. How much she desires everything that they are doing. And Aramis does like what she tests on him, dragging her hand down his nipples, too. Up and down again, daring go so low on his stomach that Anne blushes a bit at her boldness. But that's something that she wants as well.

 

Aramis moans in Porthos' mouth. Again. Even though he's doing exactly the same to his boyfriend, fighting the water rippling on his chin to not swallow any. His wandering fingers settle once more on Porthos' underwear, ghosting over the fabric. Teasing. Porthos bucks his hips, the feeling heightened by the bubbling water. Aramis does it again, over and over, so slowly that it's both an immence pleasure and a torture. The light caress gently turns into more pressure on Porthos' crotch, Aramis' moves erractic because Porthos can see how Anne is focused on him and it has to be difficult to be assaulted by so many different sensations at once and to stay in control.

 

Porthos' cock is hardening at Aramis palming him fully, groping him through the wet material. At this and at his boyfriend kissing Anne quite greedily because she's too much, trying new things. Nails dig in Aramis' arm. They're beautiful in their passion, in the little noises that Anne makes when she enjoys herself, when she fights to keep her balance, almost straddling Aramis in an effort to find a more comfortable position. Too lost in what she's experiencing to question her actions.

 

The skin of her back is soft even in the water. Warm and enticing. Porthos kisses his boyfriend's neck, traps Anne between them both before he moves on to kissing her, too. Right in Aramis' face, so close that he can catch glimpses of their tongues when they breathe. How eager Anne is, how she never lets Porthos pull back. How she grips Aramis when Porthos fumbles with the top of her swimming suit to take it off. How she doesn't tell him to stop. How she actually arches her back to make it easier for him.

 

Flushed face, hair in a disarray, Aramis' hands splayed on her ass, and her own holding on to his shoulders. Porthos' fingers on her back, his lips on hers and her breasts pressed to Aramis' naked chest now that her top is out of the way and she's completely on his lap. He wasn't quite hard before that but the way she wiggles to get comfortable, how Porthos makes her squirm when he grazes the curve of her breast, it turns Aramis on. It turns Porthos on, too. Anne can feel it on the small of her back. Anne is too intoxicated to think. It's too hot. They're hot.

 

Porthos' lush breathing in her ear to inquire if she's okay is not enough to make her find her voice again. All she can do is moan and Aramis rubs her skin, hooks his tumbs in her swimming suit. It doesn't deter Anne who sits so fully on him, underwear and bikini between them yet raw emotions on display. She can feel how excited and aroused they are for her, for each other and it empowers her.

 

Aramis groans, looking straight at Porthos nibbling her neck, smoothing her hair, touching skin that is ablaze with an invisible fire. Anne can't prevent it, can't believe how fast they made her feel like she's the most precious woman they're ever laid eyes upon.

 

“Is he hard for you?” Porthos says in her ear, his lips dragging over the shell, teeth grazing. The hotness of the words and how true they are make Anne shudder. She rests her head on his chest. She clearly cannot speak at all.

 

Porthos' hand on her breast, kneading, rolling a nipple. His tongue licking into her mouth. His nose on her cheek, breathing in. His palm massaging. His chest pressed to her back. His eyes set on Aramis and how he bites his lip, pulling her down on him more, debating with himself if it's too forward. He wants her so desperately, she feels spectacular. She looks even better once Porthos has turned off the hot tub and the water settles around them.

 

Aramis' mouth on her breast. His tongue circling. His lips suckling. His hands grasping her hips. Porthos' hand creeping lower.

 

“I want you so much,” he rasps, playing with her swimsuit, touching Aramis' stomach. Watching his boyfriend's reaction with lusty eyes.

 

Anne wants him, too. The erection on her back, the tiny movement that Porthos cannot help. The erection pressed between her legs, the one which is making her so wet and so aroused that whatever answer she might have considered gets lost in her throat. Moaning is far hotter for the men.

 

Porthos rakes his nails on the sensitive skin of his boyfriend's lower stomach, thus causing him to buck his hips into Anne and she gasps. Scrambles for something to hold on to. She wraps one arm up around Porthos' neck until she clutches his hair.

 

“I think you liked that,” he says.

 

“Yes....”

 

“More?”

 

He touches Aramis again, with the same result. Anne is thankful for Aramis' hands helping her keep her balance. She's dreamed of such pressure between her spread legs and despite Aramis not even properly touching her hot and awakened skin, it's enough. He doesn't wait for her to reply to Porthos to move his hips. Not too slow because she's pretty in his embrace. Abandoned to her pleasure in Porthos' arms.

 

One of her breasts is full in Porthos' hand. Fondled and warmed up. Aramis' tongue is still toying with the other one now that she's started moving against him, rubbing against his cock. It's excruciating to have his underwear on yet it creates more friction and Aramis is actually loving that.

 

There's water splashing around them. The only sound in the large room with Anne's endless moans and then the louder shout before Porthos stifles it with his mouth.

 

He can feel how hot her crotch is, even in the water. He remembers what she likes, how he can get her off with the proper touches and helped by Aramis, his fingers on her clit are heaven. Hell because they're not pleasuring her as quickly as she'd want.

 

They graze and they stroke. They drag quietly and it's the slighest of pressure on her. They go fast for a few seconds, Porthos having close to a grip on her breast now. Anne likes that. She loves the never-ending attention. The different touches. How Aramis is moving back and forth. How Porthos slows down everytime she believes the feeling coiling in her guts will combust her. There must be sweat mingled with water on her shining skin.

 

Aramis can feel what Porthos is doing to her. Fast circles on her clit, brushing lower, caressing his cock once in a while. Anne has no idea what her squirming does to him. It strokes against his cock and imagining what it would be like without any clothing, it's paradise in Aramis' mind. Imagining that he's so close to being inside of her for real, that it could be his cock instead of Porthos' fingers. One day. The picture in his head is sexy. Sexier with the addition of the actual vision on her lap.

 

Trapped between Aramis' cock and Porthos' fingers, inside and on her, Anne topples on Aramis' chest, trying to keep in a delighted scream. Shivering in his arms, adoring the feeling washing over her. They make her heart tingle. Her entire body lights up, inside and out. Porthos' knuckles are still moving, caressing soft flesh and coupled with Aramis' hips which haven't stopped just because she's come, it's magical.

 

He can't stop. She's a picture of seduction.

 

Anne kisses him, wrapping both arms around his neck, smoothing the damp curls on his face. Their noses touch.

 

“I like that....,” she confesses in a gasp. Her orgasm keeps on rippling, tiny pangs of painful pleasure deep in her stomach. She won't let Aramis stop either. He's too handsome.

 

“I need to....come....”

 

“Then come, cupcake.”

 

Porthos' voice is a lot closer than his boyfriend anticipated and he finds him by his side again. Sporting an unmistakable erection in his underwear. The one Porthos strokes while watching the others. Aramis pulls him in for a long kiss, Anne's soft cheek still flushed to his beard. They're surrounding him, trapping him in the orgasm that he so badly needs.

 

Porthos' hand in his hair, Anne's lips on his and Aramis tenses, pushing her down so hard on himself that she feels his cock pulse against her. She feels the long groan swirl around her tongue. She feels the shiver running under Aramis' skin before he hugs her fiercely, letting his hips slow down. His chest heaves. He has no word to express what he feels, except that it's blissful and that he'll never believe how fortunate he is that Anne is with them to share these special moments.

 

He traces the edge of her face, attempting to control his uneven breathing. Marveling at how beautiful she is with them. How at ease they all are and how perfect it is. How well he feels. As if he's floating in a sea of clouds, with the people that he loves. He can't focus properly. Instead, he cradles Anne's head to his shoulder, reaches for Porthos so that he does the same.

 

Aramis is the best pillow they could ask for.

 

“I love you,” he tells them both once he's downed the leftover champagne in his glass. He's terribly thirsty.

 

“You're pretty, cupcake. Just what I had in mind to spend a great night.”

 

Porthos refills his boyfriend's glass, effectively empties the bottle so he steals a couple of sips first. He needs the distraction. He's so hard and they've turned him on so much with all that incredible sex that it hurts a little. That won't do.

 

“I want to make you come, too,” Aramis gasps in a husky voice, the bubbles making his eyes water. Porthos has given a lot so far but he hasn't gotten much. And he needs a lot of attention. “I want you to come inside of me.”

 

Porthos growls. His cock twitches in his hand at the words. He tilts Aramis' chin up to indulge in a passionate kiss. He wants that very much. He wants anything as long as it means he can get his hands on Aramis.

 

Even in her daze, Anne knows that she wants it as well. She's been dreaming of that for a very long time. Longer than she's been dating them in fact. Porthos very nearly comes on the spot when she tells them that. He's never walked upstairs so fast, leaving puddles and a trail of wet footprints along the way. They don't care. He doesn't even mind the soaked underwear on the carpet in the bedroom.

 

“I brought your flowers here,” Aramis mentions, handing his tee-shirt to Anne so she won't be cold.

 

She snuggles by the headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest. She can't tell whether the fire on her face is because Aramis and Porthos have given her a tremendous orgasm downstairs or because of the anticipation of what she is about to watch. Either way, her heart is hammering in her chest.

 

“Yeah, they're still pretty,” Porthos mutters, sinking on the bed. The flowers are the last thing on his mind right now. He's not interested in romanticism for the time being. He wants to get lost in his boyfriend and love him to oblivion. He keeps on glancing towards Anne. Even Aramis' soft cock isn't indifferent to the audience.

 

Instead of admiring the new decoration, he pushes Aramis lighty so he lies down on the bed, and then Porthos loses no time sinking onto him. Aramis brings one leg up, this wonderful hard-on pressed to his stomach. Porthos pulls on his lip, sucks on it, licks down to his boyfriend's nipples and bites hard on one. He soothes the sting, eyes up to watch the other.

 

Aramis' fingers are on Porthos' ass, kneading, very carefully driving him crazy. His cock is so full that one touch from Aramis and it leaks.

 

“Wait,” Porthos manages to ask. With Anne's gaze on them and the fresh memory of the hot tub, it won't last as long as he would like to. It doesn't have to finish before it's even started though.

 

Aramis obeys, letting his boyfriend settle by his side and withdrawing his hand. Licking his fingers on the way. The pre-come and the salty taste on his tongue that he shares with Porthos. His skin is hyper sensitive after Anne, drying and lusting under the slow attentions of Porthos. Nails move gently, thorough and attentive. Aramis feels so perfectly relaxed under Porthos' care. In his kisses. In the hand playing with his hair.

 

Aramis' cock is liking the light caresses and he strongly believes that he'll come again with his boyfriend this time. He wants to. He wants to love Porthos and show Anne how much they trust her. He wants to show her how fantastic love can be. He wants her to enjoy this how much as he is.

 

“You can go hard,” he tells Porthos.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

“I want your fingers and I want them fast. You like that.”

 

“I do.”

 

Porthos sucks on the other's ear as he fondles his balls. The bed creaks under their weight when Aramis spreads his legs. His balls are soft and warm and blood rushes to Aramis' crotch the longer Porthos caresses them. With such gentleness that Aramis moans. This, he also likes. The sharp contrast with Porthos probbing his ass after a while. Circling and playing with his hole. Waiting for the begging. Aramis loves begging. He loves trying to take up as much teasing as he can until his skin starts to burn and he needs relief.

 

A relief which is provided by Porthos pushing inside his ass, carefully for a short few seconds before he gives his boyfriend what he desires. Aramis clenches around Porthos' knuckles. Clutches his arm and groans his name amid so many curses that Porthos adds another finger. He's rutting a little against the other, looking at Aramis' hardening cock.

 

“What are you thinking about, cupcake? What's making you hard so fast?”

 

“You....fucking me. With that big....cock of yours. How it's going to feel...inside of me. Stretching and filling.....me. How delicious it's.....oh, fuck. Do that again.”

 

Porthos crooks his fingers at the demand, licking his boyfriend's dirty lips.

 

“And?” It's dangerous to make Aramis talk that much yet he can't help wanting more.

 

“That I want your cock ….. in my mouth before that. I want to....suck you off while you....fuck me.”

 

“Oh God!”

 

This time, the swearing comes from Anne that the talking is turning on again. Watching them is doing great things to her stimulated body but those words are the icing on the cake. She clutches the pillow with both hands, unable to look at anything else but Porthos' fingers in Aramis. Moving in and out, doing precisely what Aramis described. It's too hot in the room.

 

Both men look at her and Aramis smirks between his moans. Porthos' cock is so hard that he has to take a couple of deep breaths to avoid losing it.

 

“Do that,” Porthos demands, eyes still locked on Anne.

 

Aramis keens, feels empty as they change position so he can kneel by Porthos' crotch. Then the fingers are back on his ass. In it. Sending sparks of ecstasy everywhere under his blazing skin. There's a thin layer of sweat on Porthos' body, too. On his enticing cock that Aramis swallows eagerly.

 

From the base to the tip, because he's an expert at that and Porthos can never resist it. Aramis licks along the length, lapping at the cockhead, suckling it. He hums around his boyfriend's erection, tongue warm and wet on the bare flesh. Porthos has to fist the comforter, his fingers speeding up.

 

Aramis gives Anne a spectacular show, staring at her from behind lush eyelashes. He'd tell her to come and try it for herself but he's pretty sure that would send Porthos over the edge. She must have the same idea because instead, and without fully realizing what she's doing, she finds herself with a hand between her legs. Still so wet. Aramis groans around Porthos. Draws back.

 

“Fuck me now.”

 

He doesn't have to say it twice to have Porthos looming above him, smoothing one hand over his boyfriend's thigh. The other giving his own cock a couple of strokes. Anne can see all the wonderful muscles of his back. Well-defined and shining in the light. Porthos growls when he catches her touching herself. What are those two doing to him? They're driving him insane.

 

Aramis bends one leg, bends the other so that Porthos is kneeling between them and he pushes inside his ass ridiculously slow, allowing his boyfriend to stretch totally. Aramis drawls a long moan at the familiar sensation, his cock bouncing against his stomach everytime Porthos moves. As fast and as hard as they both prefer it after they've adjusted.

 

Aramis sets his hands firmly on his boyfriend's shoulders. His feet on Porthos' ass to urge him in closer. Porthos' cock is full and it touches everywhere inside. Aramis is so warm and tight. Porthos tumbles forward, hands high above Aramis' head, fingers linked. Mouths locking. Aramis' tongue is pushing in the other's mouth like it did on his cock, making Porthos see starts and fuck him deeper.

 

“You're so hard,” Aramis says, each thrust driving him further onto the mattress. “I love it...so much.”

 

“You're not going to enjoy it much longer if you start talking now.”

 

“Then I'll just have to enjoy your tongue cleaning up your mess, won't I? Your lips on...my cock and on my....balls and on my ass. Hmmmm.....Yes. Come on.”

 

Porthos grips his boyfriend's hands tighter, giving a pressure that Aramis adores. Being in control with his words yet absolutely trapped by Porthos' strength. By his body. By his mighty fists and his thrusting cock. How exquisite it is.

 

The new fantasies invade Porthos' brain so that his thrusts turn shallower and when he comes, it's with such force that Aramis gasps underneath him. He cradles his boyfriend's face in his hands, his wrists a tad red yet Aramis doesn't care. All that matters is Porthos' pleasure and how well he's feeling. How well he's making Aramis feel.

 

How well they are making Anne feel. She can't recall ever having two orgasms that powerful on the same night and she's experiencing the most thrilling time of her life, her fingers on her clit, the men watching her closely after Porthos has sunk next to Aramis.

 

“You're so sexy I could come and lend a hand.”

 

Except Aramis doesn't follow up on this, stroking his own erection instead.

 

There's something extremely erotic about watching them both touch themselves. Something that Porthos can't ignore even in his stunned state.

 

Seeing the men together in such an intimate position was magnificent. Compelling and exciting. A bit dirty but Anne wants more. She wants to be involved next time. She wants to watch Porthos do what their teasing boyfriend promised.

 

But having them stare at her, having Aramis pleasuring himself, too, imagining that a few nights ago Porthos had his head between her thighs, it's too intense. How he sucked and licked, how he touched her, like he did in the hot tub. What great sensations it'd be to feel Aramis' beard between her legs, too.

 

Anne comes again with a gasp, overwhelmed by all these thoughts and images. Sparks of desire explode in her heart until she's so utterly spent that she's pliant in Porthos' arms. He gathers her close so she can finally cuddle with them for the rest of the night.

 

They're all sweaty, sticky, dirty, but it's one of the best sleeps of her life and filled with such extraordinary dreams. Safe and loved with the men that she loves. All their problems, everybody else at the door and nothing more important than how they take care of one another. In the simplest of ways as well as the most intimate ones.

 


	18. The Legal Papers

There's some mist in the bathroom after Aramis is done with his shower. He has to wipe the mirror to see what he's doing. It's not like signing those papers is anything of a big deal for the outside world but he'll look his best anyway. It's nothing compared to the hassle of a great ceremony, that's for sure. Nobody but him and Porthos and it should all be done in less than ten minutes according to Porthos' lawyer.

 

But it is, kind of a big deal. Not romantic in itself. A couple of signatures and a list of what they are agreeing on. It's more practical and pragmatic for the life they are building together. Easier to handle and settle the issues like those which arose the past weekend with Mati and his doubts and incomprehensions about Porthos' status. These aren't going to be completely resolved today even though officially getting this civil partnership will be the first step to set things in motion.

 

So even if the building where they have to go will be impersonal and that they don't have plans to celebrate with others but each other, for Aramis it is a sort of romantic and earth-shattering moment. It means incredible things to sign the papers with Porthos. Now, it seems like the most valid and normal development for their couple. Far from the first motivation that otherwise Mati wouldn't be able to receive the inheritance left by Belgard. It's never been about that. About money.

 

It's been about binding Aramis' life to his boyfriend on a deeper level and Aramis' heart hasn't stopped thudding since he woke up. He's actually surprised he managed to fall asleep at all. He's tired already, and he's excited and he wishes he didn't have to work this morning. The prospect of the appointment in the afternoon makes him smile at his reflection in the mirror. At the unruly short curls which were precisely the reason why he didn't want to cut so much hair. He can't get a decent hand on them at this stage. They're all over the place. At least his beard is still under control.

 

He's applying shaving cream to his face when he mumbles for Porthos to come in after he's knocked on the door. The sight of his half-naked boyfriend with a towel wrapped around his waist would almost make Porthos forget that he's running late. They're always running late when Mati isn't staying with them. They really ought to set their alarm clock earlier so they can cuddle properly without having to rush through everything else.

 

“Where did you put the milk?” Porthos asks instead, steaming coffee in hand, watching Aramis looking at him in the mirror.

 

“What milk?”

 

“The one you bought yesterday when we saw there was none left.”

 

“I didn't. I said I _might_ buy some. But I had to work late to finish if I wanted to be off this afternoon.”

 

“So you didn't get any?”

 

“No. I texted you to let you know.”

 

“No, you didn't.”

 

“Yes, I did.”

 

Frowning, frustrated, grumbling, Porthos backs down to the living room to rummage through his stuff until he finds his phone. Aramis sent so many texts yesterday, to remind his boyfriend of how impatient he was, to complain of the extra work that somehow, this specific message about the milk got lost in the midst. It's there, though. With a sad emoji. Porthos curses, loud and long enough for Aramis to hear it over the running water in the bathroom sink.

 

“I didn't see that one,” Porthos mutters, leaning in the doorway once again.

 

He's really annoyed. His morning hot drink was something he was particularly looking forward to. He's tired because Aramis couldn't fall asleep last night and kept on shuffling and sighing in bed. Not that Porthos can blame him. He's had weeks to get used to the idea that he's taking an important decision with the man that he loves, but now that the day's come, he knows it's what he wants the most in the world. He's looking forward to it, too. Porthos has signed legal papers before. With Tréville, when he was adopted. Except this time, there's none of the apprehension he remembers from when he was a teenager.

 

Porthos has never been so sure of anything in his entire life. It would have scared him if it had happened at a different time. Not now. Not today. Not after everything. He loves Aramis, even and especially when he's too focused on his shaving, his razor and his pretty face to reply. The coffee might be ruined for breakfast yet Aramis is a relaxing sight. How he sticks his tongue out and squints to examine the finished job.

 

Porthos purses his lips at the wrong taste as he takes a sip nonetheless. It's off. He'd spit it back if he wasn't well-mannered. He's upset.

 

“There's some of that almond milk Anne brought last week,” Aramis suggests. Porthos only makes a more disgusted face.

 

“It must have gone bad by now. And it's rubbish.”

 

“Don't tell her that.”

 

Aramis smiles, strides to Porthos, drying his hands.

 

“No milk, then? I mean, no decent one?”

 

“I'm afraid not. Unless you bought some and forgot you did, which I doubt. ”

 

“Fuck.”

 

“Awww, sweetie. I'm sorry. Perhaps we should buy that powdered one so we never run out.”

 

Aramis pats his boyfriend's cheek, leans up for a kiss and to soothe the rictus that Porthos made at the suggestion. He can't help grinning against Porthos' mouth. This is going to be a good day and he won't let anything get to him.

 

“I'd rather not have any in that case. That shitty stuff's for old people.”

 

“Do you want hot chocolate like Mati takes?”

 

“Hot chocolate without milk? What's that heresy?”

 

“I know, but it's better than nothing.”

 

“I'd rather go thirsty.”

 

“Now, that would be terrible, sweetie. I want you in splendid shape today. I'll make you some extra tea then.”

 

“I drink coffee in the morning,” Porthos explains, as if Aramis didn't know it already. Coffee, extra hot, with warmed up milk and one sugar. The sugar has to be in the mug before the coffee is poured over it. And not too much milk or else it'll spoil the taste. But not too little or it's too strong.

 

“Will you drink _that_?”

 

Aramis turns on his heels on the way to the kitchen, pointing at the mug and the faulty drink. Porthos looks down at the dark liquid. Too black for his liking. He pouts again, drags his feet to the kitchen table and the abandoned toasts. Aramis finds him adorable.

 

“That's what I thought. There, don't be so cranky. Eat and you'll feel better.”

 

He drops a kiss to Porthos' temple, relieves him of the mug to empty it in the sink. Still wearing nothing but his towel. This might just wake Porthos up faster than coffee. Or tea.

 

“Here you go. With some honey so it goes down better. Eat or we're going to be late,” Aramis presses.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, come here.”

 

Porthos grabs Aramis' arm until he's sitting on his lap and the towel somehow comes loose at the unexpected move. Porthos' hand is hot on his boyfriend's back, strong and so soft. Aramis can take his time for these moments. Porthos nuzzles the smooth skin of his boyfriend's shaved face, tracing the clean outline of his beard with his lips.

 

“I love you, 'mis.”

 

“I love you, too. Very much.” Aramis gives him a peck and another. “Next time I'll call, too, to make sure we avoid further breakfast tragedies.”

 

Porthos snorts, muttering something about unreliable technology anyway but more annoyed at himself for missing the text. He'll get something hot on the way to the gym. After all, he's the boss. If someone can afford to be late, it's him. His boyfriend certainly can't or else he won't even be free to join him in the afternoon to go to the tribunal. And _that_ would be a tragedy.

 

Now that they've made up their mind about their future, Porthos doesn't want to wait anymore. He's sure of his choice and his decision and it's so thrilling that he has to smother Aramis in a tight hug. To hell with the crumbs falling down his shirt.

 

* * *

 

 

Another perk of being the boss is that Porthos can leave work whenever he wants. He has trusted employees who've been there long enough to make the gym run without him. And he didn't have to teach any classes in the afternoon so it's not as if he's upsetting the entire schedule. He's nonetheless changed from his track pants because it might be over pretty soon, this legal business, it's still significant enough to dress nicely.

 

Jeans and a nice shirt will do it. Especially since they've also planned on swinging by the graveyard later. During the weekend at Athos', Aramis had promised that their Mati-free week would be only about the two of them. No date with Anne. No date with their entire family. Just the two of them to be reenergized. So they have both chosen one thing they wanted to do to celebrate their soon-to-be acquired civil partnership.

 

Aramis wants to take a bath with a lot of bubble-bath so they'll do that at home. If they can find strawberries, it'll be even more awesome. Porthos wants to go see his mother. He has so much to tell her. So many whirlwinds he's been through and that he wants to share.

 

It's only about the two boyfriends, it's been since Sunday night. A blissful couple of nights already. Porthos sees more clearly thanks to this short break from the others. Knowing that Anne doesn't mind and actually approves helps. She's all about giving the men whatever space and private moments they might need. It makes her more impatient to see them again.

 

Besides, Porthos desperately needed Aramis to himself regardless of how amazing things are becoming with their girlfriend. He needs his boyfriend and his undivided attention for a while. It may be selfish, he doesn't care. It's almost as if Porthos was addicted and if he is, then he doesn't mind in the least. It's not something he wants to cure. He wants to feel his heart swell and settle anytime he gazes at Aramis. Be it after minutes or hours spent apart. This feeling which makes him realize he'll always miss Aramis whenever he isn't around. Because Aramis makes the world spin right. He makes all the pieces of Porthos' life fall into place. Only by being him. By existing.

 

This isn't an affliction that Porthos wants cured. It's magical. He's stopped wrecking his brains over it long ago. That's the way it is. Just like Aramis can't and won't be cured from smoking. A few months without touching a cigarette was all that he could manage. Anne isn't pleased yet he doesn't do it in front of their son so Aramis has deemed it enough of an effort. It'll never be as bad as it used to be when he would smoke pack after pack. Now it's a random cigarette here and there that Porthos can't rightfully complain about: he loves the taste of tobacco on his boyfriend's tongue when he kisses him. It reminds him of when they first started dating. The smell which was so easily associated with Aramis.

 

The smell and taste that Porthos breathes in when he bends down for a kiss after he's met with Aramis on the terrace of a coffee shop. The cigarette is half done then. Aramis looks ecstatic, with his sunglasses and the crinkles that Porthos can still make out at the corner of his eyes. Basking in the spring sun, stretching on his seat, pushing a paper cup toward Porthos once he's sat down, too.

 

“Coffee. Just like you love it. To make up for the disastrous one this morning. I hope it's still hot.”

 

Aramis waits rather patiently, drumming his fingers on his leg, staring at Porthos sniffing the drink. He hopes he didn't mess it up. That he chose the correct milk and the correct amount. Of course he did. Porthos sighs with contentment and Aramis flashes white teeth.

 

“Why must you always come up with new ways for me to fall in love with you, eh?”

 

Porthos also leans forward to kiss his pleased boyfriend once again. Their smiles brush. Aramis rubs his foot against Porthos'. He giggles at the question.

 

“I bought milk, too. So tomorrow morning, breakfast will only be snuggles and smooches.”

 

Porthos snorts at the cheesiness, at how thoughtful Aramis is even though it was never his fault in the first place.

 

“I love you, 'mis.”

 

“I should buy milk more often.”

 

“And what are those? Don't tell me you bought me flowers, too. This isn't a wedding or anything.”

 

There's a colorful bouquet on the table. A mix of gorgeous flowers and it smells heavenly. Aramis shakes his head, blows smoke and sips on his own drink.

 

“They're for your mom. Coz you said you wanted to bring her some.”

 

“Yeah. I would have bought them, though. When I'd have bought milk but it seems I don't need to.”

 

“You still can. She'll have more. It'll be prettier.”

 

“Yeah. Thank you, cupcake.”

 

Aramis beams, runs a hand in his hair. It sticks in all directions, Porthos loves it. His entire world has zeroed in on his magnificent boyfriend whose eyes he doesn't have to actually see to know that they are sparkling. Aramis' smile stretches like it always does when he's over the moon.

 

“I bought some other stuff, too,” he adds casually. “But it's for later tonight.”

 

“And let me guess: I can't ask what it is because it's a surprise?”

 

In place of a quick reply, Aramis takes off his sunglasses, leaning in to invade Porthos' space. One hand rests on his boyfriend's thigh. His eyes shine with happiness.

 

“Precisely.”

 

The mischievous tone along with the wink make Porthos laugh out loud. A hoarse laughter which makes Aramis giddy with delight. He's so impatient. When he's impatient, he smokes, lighting up a second cigarette. When he's impatient or nervous, Porthos eats and thus finishes the pastry Aramis had ordered before his arrival. It's so sweet with the coffee. Perfect. The breakfast he should have had at 8 am but in the middle of the afternoon instead.

 

Which is much better since they have the rest of the day to themselves now. To bitch about traffic, to hold hands while they stroll in the street, to pout when random clouds shield the delightful sun. To wonder how long they'll have to wait in the lobby of the tribunal. To take silly selfies for Anne to pass the time. For Aramis to huddle close to his boyfriend and to whisper non-stop about how excited he is. How he would never have imagined one day he'll do this with someone so significant to him.

 

If he's being honest, Porthos' stomach has been fluttering a great deal since they've been told to have a seat. Not even the chewing-gums provided by Aramis have been enough. One look at his boyfriend's grin and the wonderful singing accent in his words while he talks about his latest project at work hardly help Porthos calm down. There's nothing that can. He's mildly afraid he's crushing Aramis' knuckles in his grip yet he hears no complaint. Instead, Aramis brings the other's hand to his lips to kiss it softly.

 

In the end, it's as easy and as quick as the lawyer described it. All their papers are ready. One final read-through and all they have to do is sign and that's it. Ten minutes flat. Still butterflies in Porthos' stomach when he puts the pen down. Aramis' leg won't stop bouncing. It echoes throughout his boyfriend's body. They're sitting as close as they can and they don't care if the lawyer finds them corny. They mustn't be the first couple in his office being overwhelmed by such a commitment.

 

The better part of the appointment is taken up by talks of adoption given that it's the next thing on Aramis' agenda. Made it all easier because the boy's mother totally agrees with it. It's a blur for Porthos, though, who gladly lets Aramis nod and listen intently. He's still processing the change that's just happened in his life, even though it won't change anything in their daily life. Athos has been complaining for months that they act like a married couple anyway. Those are the types of jokes that Porthos should hear more often again now that his best friend is moving back to Paris for a while.

 

While Porthos mostly deals with his emotions on the inside and without letting go of his boyfriend even in the crowded subway, Aramis has to externalize his feelings. He won't stop touching Porthos. Playing with his hair. Nuzzling his neck. Clutching the flowers. Gripping Porthos' shirt. Booping his nose. That earns him giggles from a small child sitting nearby so he does it again. For good measure. Until the little girl tries it on her own mother who isn't pleased with the interruption in her reading. And until Porthos growls yet chuckles and makes to bite the naughty finger. Then he soothes it with a gentle kiss. Aramis' cheeks must hurt from all that smiling.

 

No, it doesn't, he swears when they decide to finish by walking to the graveyard. The weather is too nice to be stuck in a stuffy subway surrounded by strangers. Their arms swing as they stroll. A breeze in the air. The ivy on the wall of the graveyard a lovely shade of green.

 

It's peaceful, even quiet inside. Porthos likes coming here, especially when it isn't prompted by the strong need to seek a comfort that he can't get anywhere else. Of course he misses his mother. Misses her every day of his life. On milestones like today, her absence is perhaps felt more. But he isn't sad right now. He's accepted that she would have to follow his path from above a long time ago. It still hurts to realize that he'll never hug her again. He barely remembers the warmth of her arms. Or her soothing voice. Of the smooth feel of her lips in his hair. There's no point dwelling over what won't happen again when Porthos can focus on what's making him really happy, though.

 

It's a simple grave with a simple headstone. His mother's name and those dates that Porthos doesn't remember. He can't recall the exact day she died. But that's all right. Because he remembers her smile and her eyes, he thinks. If he closes his eyes and concentrates. He only has a couple of pictures and he's determined she'll never be just a blurry memory. She was starting to become one, at one point, but then Tréville barged into Porthos' life, full of hope and expectations. He's the one who reconciled Porthos with those painful memories. The one who embellished the grave, keeping it simple yet cleaner than it used to be. The one who convinced his now son that simply because his mother had passed didn't mean that he couldn't speak to her.

 

It helped. It still does. This is his motivation for coming. He's been paying women from the nearby parish for years just to ensure that there would be fresh flowers on the grave, every single day even when life is too busy for Porthos to visit and do it himself. He wants the place to be beautiful. Always. It's like a safe haven and he likes sitting by the headstone. Either in silence when there are too many visitors or actually talking. There's that feeling of pure peace in his heart when he's finished, which makes him believe that somehow, his mother is talking back.

 

Aramis is incredible quiet by his side. Chanelling all his energy to let his boyfriend have this special moment and diverting it into being a supportive and loving person. Aramis loves graveyards, in spite of the initial sadness they can trigger. The love that people have when they visit. How precious the buried still are. How they often unite people and families.

 

Porthos looks so profundly calm, gazing down, watching his boyfriend arrange the flowers in the vase, fussing over those which were already there. Some are on the verge of withering. He takes a step back in silence when he's done to squeeze Porthos' hand.

 

“I'll go put these in the trash,” Aramis says softly, a couple of dead stems in hand. Porthos nods, closes his eyes at the kiss on his cheek and when he opens them again, Aramis is already walking away, the gravel creaking under his shoes.

 

“He chose those for you,” Porthos explains, touching a blue flower with the pad of a finger. The petals tremble a bit and he watches them as he crouches by the vase, brushing away leaves from the dark marble. “Because blue's my favorite and well, he said it must be for a reason. Even if I don't know what was _your_ favorite color, it makes _me_ happy. So that's something.”

 

The grass is a little wet once he's sat down. There is entirely not enough exposure to the sun in this part of the graveyard. It'd almost be chilly with the air blowing in his hair. Porthos grabs a random pebble, eyes set on the golden letters of his mother's name. There's not a human sound around him. Only cars in street but he can ignore those.

 

Aramis has settled on a bench by the entrance, mind focused on the book he grips with both hands. Porthos loves him so much, looks at him lost in fictional characters and the words pour out of him effortlessly. A joyous litany. His own voice rings in his ears, floating up to the skies where he wants to believe that his mother is watching him.

 

“We got a civil partnership today. Like, an hour ago. I'm still shivering, thinking about it. Can you imagine? I ….. I really think I've found someone who can make me truly happy, Mom. I mean, I know I have. I wake up every day and I see this mass of hair and this smile and I feel alive. As if it was a completely different life. Do you remember the first time I told you about Aramis? I remember being intrigued, simply knowing there was something about him that I couldn't keep away from. I wish you could meet him. Really meet him. You'd love him. Sometimes I.... sometimes I imagine what it'd be like if you were still there.”

 

Porthos sighs, can't help his heart clenching a bit. Wishful, impossible thinking. He doesn't know what it's like to grow up with a mom. He had a decent childhood at least. It could have been worse.

 

“Maybe you'd cook together. Or you'd tell him embarassing tales about me as a baby. His mother told me how he'd always pee on her whenever she was changing his clothes. I've still to see him more mortified than he was that day!”

 

Porthos snorts, a crystal sound which breaks the small and sad bubble which was beginning to obscure the moment. It's a hilarious memory: his first Christmas in Spain. How extraordinary it had been. All the people Porthos had met there. Those who are now his true family.

 

“And you know what, Mom? Things with Mati are getting better and better. I almost can't believe how much I've grown with him. All these things that I was afraid of and which are now natural. He looks at me and I see so much trust in his face it's.....scary. Unsettling. I want to protect him from all the evil in the world. He's so tiny. And I'm....I'm a parent now, Mom. Never, ever in my wildest dreams woud I have pictured myself as one. It's …..Aramis has brought so many wonderful things with him. I've never felt so trusted in my life. You'd be proud, I guess. That I'm finally making something out of my life. I ….he wants me to adopt Mati, Mom.”

 

Porthos whispers this, afraid that the idea might vanish if he were to shout it out. His voice trembles at the exceptional word. That craving that Aramis awakened in his boyfriend by being a spectacular father, even when he was only a long-distance one. This longing in Porthos' heart that the reality of living with a child has mended and fixed.

 

“Anne wants it, too. His mom. She's amazing. They all are. You'd love them, Mom. I just....I think I see what they see in me but I'll forever be grateful that they think me worthy of their son. Of their love. I ….I love them, Mom. You know? I can't picture my life without their gorgeous faces in it. And Anne's voice. God, you have to hear her voice. That accent and how soothing it is. One day she'll come and you'll see for yourself. Mati, too. But he's too little for now. I don't know. I haven't asked Aramis about it. Perhaps I should? You'd like that. You'd see how special he is. They all are, really. I've turned cheesy because of them but you know what? I don't care. I love it.”

 

Porthos chuckles at his own words. His shoulders heave then relax with his relieved breath of air. There are no more tremors running through his body or altering his voice. This is better therapy than the shrinks he saw in the past. His words entrusted to this island of remembrance in the midst of a bustling city. His fingers trace the edges of the golden numbers and he lays a single rose by them. An orange one, with some hints of yellow and pink. Fiery colors.

 

“Here I....I brought you a picture that you can keep. Better than those I showed you on my phone. I gave Mati his first riding lesson on Saturday. Athos said he was gripping the mane as hard as I was the first time. Which is probably true. And Anne doesn't like horses but she's here anyway, on the pic. Aramis was so surprised. She's a little nervous, though. You can tell. Look.”

 

The photograph has been framed. A great shot of the four of them four days beforehand. That blissful Saturday when they told their friends the truth and life hasn't been clearer since. Definitely happier because of the legal papers. Porthos is careful setting the frame on the grave. Facing the headstone.

 

“I've a thing for Anne, too, you must have gathered and guess what? Aramis doesn't mind. Aramis loves her, too. I've never had so much love in my life, Mom. It's crazy and unbelievable and it's changed so fast I don't know how to explain it without freaking out. I'm happy and it makes sense. Somehow. And for once, I'm not scared of the future so that must mean something. Right?”

 

Porthos shifts so that his back is touching the headstone. The marble is hard and cold against his temple. He's smiling, staring at the picture and further down in the alley, at Aramis who has stopped reading to chat with the security guard. So patient and understanding.

 

“I had that nightmare last week again. I've had it too when I learned that Belgard died. He died. I forgot to tell you that. And for some reason I was sad and it made me angry but now I'm good, I think. He gave money to the orphanage and to Mati. I know, it's hard to believe. You know that nightmare, right? The one where that dick....sorry, where he tries to take me away from you. And it never ends. I hate it.”

 

Porthos' chest constricts at the thought alone. He's never told anyone about this dream. He's been having it since the orphanage. First it was only a shadow. Nameless, faceless, forcing him apart from his mother. It took Belgard's face after Porthos met him for the first time. A terrible abyss. Dark and Porthos can feel it in his bones. How he tries to fight that death grip but it's never enough. How his feet feel like lead and he can't move his legs. It's a ridiculous nightmare which won't leave him alone and talking about it is useless. He doesn't want Aramis to pity him for the tricks his mind plays on him.

 

“But this time, you weren't alone. Mati was there, too and I mean, I can't get you back. But I don't want to lose him either. He doesn't make life easier but he sure makes it more entertaining. There was some shit....sorry. That happened with him and his friends and don't get me started on that fucking....sorry. Security guard. I don't know what happened.....I mean, yes. I do. But I don't want people to see me and think that I'd harm him because I'm who I am. Because I'm black and he's not. I wish you were here for that, Mom. To help with that. I wish you could play with him like Dad does. I wish I had both you and Dad. I wish I had normal parents. But I suppose normal has never been for me.”

 

Porthos laughs to himself. Rubs his nose. Rubs his eyes.

 

“I've always wanted to fit in, to blend in but that's not when I'm the happiest, I've found out. It takes too much effort when I could just be myself. I think I'm good like I am. And besides, Mom, Mati thinks I'm his dad. His second dad, that's how he calls me when he's talking to others. All the time now. He looks at me, he's 6 and he doesn't care about anything else. Mom....”

 

A single tear rolls down his cheek. Not from sadness. More because he is beside himself that such a thing could happen to him. Hearing Mati say it always makes Porthos want to cry. He's still smiling, feeling more tears fall as he closes his eyes. His vision is misty. He loves them all tremendously and he's trying really hard not to fear or even wonder when it could all come crashing down. He didn't come here today for that. He came because he wanted to share fantastic news with his mother and talking out loud has showed him how lucky he is. How he's been every day since he's met Aramis.

 

Porthos has to grip his phone to manage to properly send the text to Aramis. That's what they always do. Aramis lets him have his private moment with himself, with his mother. Then Porthos will text him and Aramis will come back.

 

By the time he does so, Porthos has kissed his mother's name quickly, he's scrambled to his feet and he's dabbed his eyes with the back of his hand. His boyfriend nonetheless reaches up to make Porthos bend down so he can kiss the wet cheeks. So he can wipe the tears which linger. Porthos presses against Aramis' lips but not a word passes between them. Aramis leans against Porthos, anchors himself to the other's waist. And then he says a short prayer. Out loud this time, since Porthos can't remember any. That's Aramis' contribution to the visit. Smooth and melodious words wrapping around the both of them -the three of them, in a glorious coat of blessing and thanks.

 

When he looks up again, Aramis sees how good Porthos feels inside. The far away look in his eyes, lost in the distance and the smile stretching on his lips. The one which lands on Aramis' mouth again. Porthos cups his boyfriend's face with both hands and gazes at him for a while. Aramis hardly blinks, holds on to Porthos, too.

 

Someone passes by, a large blur of leaves and flowers, paying them no mind and Aramis very gently lets his head lean closer until their noses brush. Porthos is so quiet, still in his transe, feeding on the great energy he must have harvested from his long minutes with his mother. Aramis is aware he isn't sad. Not too much. That Porthos has likely shared what has improved or metamorphosed in his life, but Aramis will never know. He never asks.

 

He's content hugging Porthos, letting him come back down to reality. Calming his heart and his mind. Using the power of his visit to this grave to create more memorable moments in the rest of a life he is no longer wasting away. An existence with a purpose now.

 

“I'm thirsty,” Porthos eventually says. It's indeed a hoarse whisper. Aramis pats his back, lets his fingers trail down his boyfriend's arm until they encounter others to thread with.

 

“I've got just the right thing at home.”

 

“Yeah.....let's go.”

 

Porthos has to look back at the very last second, mouthing another good bye. Aramis does exactly the same. Two quick words directed at Porthos' mother which perhaps mean more to her son than everything Aramis has done since they entered the graveyard. How he's understood so perfectly well Porthos' relationship with his mom. Aramis really is a rock for his boyfriend, much more than Porthos would have ever imagined. He feels so safe with Aramis that he can let go and turn into mush and know for sure that someone will always be there to catch him.

 

* * *

 

 

Taking a bath is as much a way to celebrate than one to relax. If Aramis hadn't suggested it before Porthos said he wanted to visit his mother's grave he could have thought that Aramis had chosen this on purpose. But he didn't. He did because they can drink champagne and that he can also work wonders for the sore muscles in Porthos' neck. His hand is magical, kneading the skin.

 

There are bubbles up to Porthos' shoulders, the empty bottle of bubble bath forgotten on the floor. Aramis's chest is soft and sturdy behind Porthos who can recline as totally as he wants. So completely that when his champagne is gone, that he's eaten too much whipped cream with strawberries, he sinks further in between the other's legs so that his head rests on Aramis' shoulder.

 

It makes Aramis giggle when he has to try to push away enough bubbles to prevent his boyfriend from swallowing any every time he opens his mouth. Aramis has a tight grip on him now, and the bottle of alcohol is too far out of reach so he decides that they can always finish it later. It'd be pure outrage to ask Porthos to scoot over. Even for a few seconds. Not when he looks so dreamy.

 

Wet, glistening skin and a marvellous citrus taste when Aramis kisses his boyfriend's forehead.

 

“I love that brand you chose,” he hums. “It smells like summer and the beach.”

 

“I love the scratch of your beard on my skin,” Porthos says back, prompting Aramis to give him more kisses, to drag it across Porthos' cheek when he's tilted his head up. “It means you're real and you love me.”

 

“Of course I do, sweetie. I love you and I love these big hands and arms which hold me close whenever I feel down. Or anytime really.”

 

“Or when you're scared,” Porthos teases. “Remember that movie for our first Halloween?”

 

“That was the scariest stuff I'd ever seen!”

 

Porthos kisses the pout away, nibbling at the gorgeous lips, licking inside Aramis' mouth. Liking the turn of the conversation. It's something they do often. He thinks for a second, before realizing that he doesn't need to. There are simply so many things he adores about Aramis.

 

“I love the taste of cigarette when I kiss you,” he confesses. “It reminds me of the very beginning.”

 

Aramis grins, traces Porthos' eyebrow with a finger and collects some of the foam there. Gently with his nail.

 

“I love cuddling with you when you wear that fluffy bathrobe.”

 

Aramis points at it, hanging behind the door. He feels like he's snuggling a cloud when it's on Porthos. Added with his boyfriend's natural softness, it's heaven.

 

“I'll wear it later,” Porthos promises.

 

“I'm counting on it.”

 

“I love your emoji texts, cupcake. Even when they make me miss important information.”

 

“I love how you sing in the shower.”

 

“Remember how I thought you couldn't hear me at first?”

 

“And how embarassed you were? Yes, I do.” Aramis smiles fondly at the memory.

 

“I love how _you_ sing when you cook. And how you shout at the TV or the radio when you don't agree with them. Or how you dance as if no one was around.”

 

“I love when _you_ practice choregraphies in the living room.”

 

“Even when I almost punch your son in the process?”

 

“Almost is the crucial word here, sweetie. And Mati didn't even skip a beat that day.”

 

The boy really didn't, carrying on as if they hadn't just avoided a major catastrophe. Dance lessons are a top priority for him.

 

“ 'Mis? You know what I love? When you tell me you love me in Spanish. Or when you just say anything in Spanish.”

 

That, Aramis is very well aware of.

 

“ _I love you. I love you. I love you.”_

 

Water splashes as Porthos turns around in the tub to face his boyfriend. It's a little cold now. He has no idea how long they've been lying there. Aramis professes it a couple more times in between kisses. Short, quick ones.

 

“I love how sometimes, I wake up before you,” Aramis explains, stopping every few words to kiss Porthos again and again, “and I watch you sleep and you move your nose like that witch in the old TV show.”

 

He couldn't be more serious and Porthos cocks his head, laughs out loud and smothers the susbsequent loopsided grin with a powerful hug. It's a bit of a wrestle at this point and they barely avoid a fall when they step out of the tub. They've soaked the carpets and they've consequently sort of cleaned the floor, too.

 

The list keeps on growing as they cuddle on the bed. So do the kisses.

 

The special mug that Porthos never touches because he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if an accident happened. His murderuous glare the day one of the teenagers at the fencing gym cut Aramis' wrist while handling too many swords out of storage.

 

It's a trade-in of soft whispers, wandering hands, long kisses, chuckles and light touches. A shiver runs down Aramis' spine because he's naked and Porthos' warmth is nearly not enough. Not when he's been thoroughly caressing his boyfriend's shoulder and arm for the past minutes. If this isn't the perfect day, Porthos doesn't know what is.

 

“I love you, cupcake. I'm happy you're here.”

 

“ _I love you, too_. There's no other place I'd rather be tonight.” The smooth fingers grazing Aramis' hip tickle a little, just enough to make him squirm and shift. “Do you want to see what I bought earlier?”

 

“You know I love surprises.”

 

“Hold on.”

 

Aramis bolts to his feet, scampering to the living room. Stark naked. Porthos folds his hands under his head, waiting to be greeted with a fantastic view. He is when Aramis hurries back to his side.

 

“How does this one smell now?” Porthos asks, watching the lube land next to him. Aramis must be starting a collection.

 

“Could you sound less blasé? It's special.”

 

“How so? Is it non-perishable? Not that we ever have to throw any away.”

 

Porthos smirks cheekily up at Aramis who literally sinks on top of him. The same naked body which was pressed to his in the bathroom but with different intentions. As honorable and as wanted. Needed. Welcomed.

 

“It tastes like chocolate,” Aramis stresses.

 

“Tastes? As in....”

 

“Yep. Wanna try?”

 

Aramis wiggles his eyebrows and Porthos would laugh in his face if his boyfriend wasn't letting his fingers roam the expanse of Pothos' chest while he's talking. Instead, Porthos sucks in a breath. The bathrobe is gently pushed out of the way, Aramis' hand flat over his boyfriend's heart.

 

“What did you have in mind?” Porthos' voice is so deep, Aramis loves it.

 

“A few things....It's not just strawberries that I'd like to eat tonight,” he rasps, his teeth closing on Porthos' ear.

 

Porthos chuckles and sighs, settling better on the bed and then he hisses at Aramis shuffling down his body. The flicker of a tongue over a nipple, Aramis' eyes up towards his boyfriend behind thick eyelashes. The rope of the bathrobe is like a feather on Porthos' skin. It makes his thigh and his stomach tingle.

 

Lush lips kissing a quick path down to Porthos' crotch. Aramis can feel his boyfriend's chest heave with pleased breaths. With anticipation. And then Porthos shivers uncontrollably, squirms and tries not to giggle.

 

“What is it?”

 

Aramis' hand has stilled on Porthos' hardening cock, lube dripping from his fingers. He doesn't pull away, though. He watches Porthos bite his lip.

 

“It's cold, that's all. It tickles.”

 

Aramis snorts, drops his head with no further comment as if there had been no interruption. He touches the cockhead with the tip of his tongue. Tentatively. Testing. Then he deems it yummy. Yummier because it's on Porthos and he drags his tongue up and down the length of Porthos' cock. Porthos has stopped wriggling, head on a pillow and completely focused on the slurps and rather dirty sounds that his boyfriend keeps on making.

 

As if this blowjob was the best treat in the universe.

 

Aramis swallows Porthos entirely, breathing heavily and somehow he manages to talk. Yet it's only a rumble around Porthos' excited cock.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Is it warmer now?” Aramis repeats, letting Porthos go for a second, peppering kisses along the cock, licking and sucking on the tip. Never looking away from his boyfriend as he does so. Yes, Porthos is. Definitely warmer. All over.

 

“Yeah. Ah....Do that again.”

 

His hand closes on the damp curls on Aramis' head. Tenderly. Never too roughly. A smooth caress which makes Aramis more eager. It may even speed him up. He makes obscene noises when he takes Porthos into his mouth, when he strokes the base of the cock with skilled fingers. Slippery. A smell so strong that it even floats up to Porthos. Exactly like it would smell like if someone had baked a chocolate cake. And Aramis certainly feeds on Porthos and the ridiculously large amount of lube he's poured on him.

 

As if Porthos was a delicate and fancy dessert.

 

Hot lips and tongue on the tip of his cock, the scratch of Aramis' beard on his boyfriend's balls. The tiny hums of appreciation which echo against them. The hand working Porthos' cock so it doesn't feel neglected. The cool lube on Porthos' ass after Aramis has tapped on his thigh so Porthos would spread his legs wider. Aramis can never have enough. Porthos groans at the teasing tongue. How it very carefully circles his hole. Aramis takes his time in spite of his excitement. He can feel Porthos relax and clench in turn, always urging him forward.

 

Porthos' hand is solid on the nape of his boyfriend's neck, kneading. Aramis' tongue is heavy in him, deliberately slow. It's driving Porthos crazy. It's working magic. His cock twitches in Aramis' fist, with every stroke and Aramis' nose bumps against his balls when Porthos bucks his hips under the pressure and the heat of the moment.

 

“Sorry,” he gasps after Aramis has drawn back. His mouth glistens and he licks his lips in such a dirty way that Porthos has to close his eyes and take a deep breath in order not to lose it.

 

“I knew you'd like that,” he replies wickedly, already bending down again. Porthos tugs on his hair instead, shakes his head.

 

“I want to make love to you. Not come like that.”

 

“Well, you can still make love to me and come in my mouth, too.”

 

Aramis laps at the thick cock once. Porthos shakes his head again.

 

“Love to you.”

 

“Okay, then.”

 

It's a terrible abandon, though, when Aramis lets go entirely and lies down on the bed. The glorious expanse of his naked and aroused body for Porthos to admire. He crooks a finger at his boyfriend and shudders at Porthos' hand squimming over his soft, hard stomach. Grazing close to his crotch. Raking over nipples.

 

Hot lips suck on Aramis' neck, fingers close on his hip tightly and Aramis bends a leg almost instantly. The muscles of Porthos' back flex under his touch. They flex more as he turns around and fumbles with the bedside table. When he turns back towards Aramis, he looks like he's about to laugh. Or frown.

 

“What is it? Come here and keep touching me,” Aramis almost whines.

 

Porthos keeps on staring at the lube he has in hand, then at the one Aramis bought today. And then he does what's been asked, and Aramis arches his back under the attention.

 

“It's just....Do you think....if we used this one and your new one.....It'd smell like your favorite cake?” Porthos finally asks, scratching Aramis' cheek lightly. “Cherry and chocolate?”

 

Aramis snorts when he understands. He hooks one leg around Porthos' waist and tries to grind against him. Porthos drops his head onto the mattress when their cock touch.

 

“Let's find out,” Aramis decides. “We need the champagne, too.”

 

“You use rhum in your cake.”

 

Aramis would roll his eyes if he wasn't distracted by enticing smells, enticing skin and enticing ideas. He rocks up so they're somewhat sitting, wrapped in each other.

 

“It's sex, sweetie. Who cares?”

 

Porthos makes to nip at his lip only for Aramis to withdraw, a spark in his eye. He shuffles down the bed and out of the bedroom before Porthos can protest.

 

“Aramis? What are you doing?” It shouldn't take this long to retrieve the bottle from the bathroom. Porthos feels much too alone.

 

“I'm brushing my teeth!”

 

“How romantic,” Porthos scoffs, falling back on the mattress with a thud.

 

“I do intend to kiss you again, you know. Not that you seemed to mind being by yourself.”

 

Porthos has taken to stroking his own cock. Still slick and full of the memory of Aramis' mouth on it. Aramis smirks, takes a large gulp straight from the bottle before he lends a hand, his fingers on Porthos'. Porthos chokes on his moan. Moans again when Aramis kisses him full on the mouth.

 

It's sweet around his tongue. Sticky because of the whipped cream from earlier. Porthos licks the random drops of champagne in Aramis' beard and steals the bottle so he can be the one holding it up for his boyfriend. The liquid is a bit warm, trickling down Aramis' throat. Trickling down his neck a little. Porthos loses no time sucking on it, making Aramis hiss and recline on his elbows. So Porthos does it again on purpose, very carefully tipping the bottle and watching the yellow bubbly liquid fall onto Aramis' chest. All the way down to his stomach.

 

Aramis huffs out, feeling the blazing heat of Porthos' tongue drinking the champagne, sucking on the sensitive skin for good measure. And then he falls completely flat on his back after Porthos has winked and started to lap at the drops around his belly-button.

 

It was excellent champagne before but with Aramis' musky scent, with the hypnotizing smells of both chocolate and cherry, Porthos feels like it's a whirlwind of new sensations. Senses in a beautiful turmoil, Aramis' moans above his head when he licks some more champagne up to his boyfriend's lips. It's a feisty kiss, Aramis pulling him deeper until he almost chokes on Porthos' tongue and he has to pull back. Heaving.

 

Aramis' cock twitches at the sudden yet expected touch. Cool fingers from having held the glass bottle. Cooler because of the lube coating them. Aramis, for one, likes it. Heat in the kiss and cold soon turning warmer caresses on his ass. And Porthos taking his sweet time. Playing with his hole, nibbling at Aramis' collarbone. Teasing with just a finger inside Aramis, brushing his lips to his boyfriend's. Watching the wonderful reactions on Aramis' face. How he grips Porthos' arm, nails scrapping the hard skin.

 

The power and the strength of Porthos' fingers. The hand massaging his thigh and the long kisses stifling groans. His thumb grazing Aramis' balls and how much Aramis is trying to concentrate on what is happening to him right now instead of focusing on what's about to in a matter of minutes. He wants it all so much, he's impatient for it. How easy it is for Porthos to move his fingers inside of him.

 

“I need you to turn around, cupcake.”

 

It's a husky rasp which has Aramis whimpering before he rolls onto his stomach. The bulk of his boyfriend's weight is too far away for the time being. Aramis is trembling with anticipation. Porthos' hand trails down his back, awakening a surging fire under his skin. The palm on his ass massaging the flesh fuels it. Aramis whimpers again, shivers at the soft lips at the base of his neck. Porthos' fingers don't fill him up like he'd want them to.

 

“It really smells like a fucking bakery,” Porthos remarks. “Someone should write and tell them to tone it down.”

 

Aramis grins in the pillow then gasps at Porthos' cock pressing against him. That's better. Bigger and fuller than mere fingers. Hard and excited. Complete when Porthos stills, shifts on his knees and lies down on top of Aramis. This is what he needed. To feel every inch of Porthos on and in him. Aramis makes a little contented noise before he tries to move. He's good.

 

There's another kiss on his shoulder blade. Porthos gropes for his boyfriend's hands to clasp his in them. To hold them tight, along with the sheet that Aramis was already clutching.

 

Each thrust from Porthos pushes him deeper onto the mattress. Each thrust feels stronger. As slow as ever but it sends ripples of pleasure to Aramis' stomach. Over and over again. He's so ready and so open for Porthos. Such an intense thrill to feel Aramis clench around his cock. To have him beg whenever Porthos withdraws too much. Almost completely and Aramis has never been so empty. He's sweaty and grunting, but so is Porthos. Sucking on the exact same spot in Aramis' neck. Biting once in a while, each time making his boyfriend swear and ask for more.

 

Aramis' words are a slur, the Spanish that Porthos adores. The sentences that he knows from the many, many nights spent together. Porthos believes he is fluent in bedroom Spanish. Aramis chortles and gasps at the joke. A long moan urging Porthos to move faster. Because it drives him harder onto the bed. It's a suffocating feeling which is never enough. Aramis wants to feel the entire length of Porthos' hard cock inside of him. All the wonderful spots that it touches. How full it is. How his own cock rubs against the bedsheets with each thrust.

 

Then all of a sudden, Porthos lets go of one of Aramis' hands to grip his hip instead so they can shift. There's sweat on Aramis' arm that his boyfriend licks and they're on their side, Porthos still very much in Aramis' ass. But like that, his fingers can also stroke Aramis' cock. He can kiss him after Aramis has turned his head. Panting in his boyfriend's mouth, grasping Porthos' hair for the sake of not losing control.

 

But there are too many things that Porthos is doing to him at the same time to do so. And Aramis doesn't want to. Porthos doesn't stop stroking his cock after he's come. Tiny noises fill the room. Squeaks that Porthos loves. He strokes Aramis softly, stares at his beautiful face. The love and care and lust in his eyes. The way Aramis pushes his ass to meet Porthos' thrusts, still very much drawing pleasure from them.

 

Porthos' heart is hammering against his boyfriend's back. Aramis is pulling on his hair. Moaning still. A picture of ecstasy and bliss and it's because of Porthos.

 

His nails dig in the skin of Aramis' stomach when he comes. His entire body shudders and Aramis sighs. He rubs the fingers on his chest. Doesn't say a word until Porthos lies back on the bed, overwhelmed. He only has to open his arms for Aramis to bury under one. Still not talking. Tracing patterns on Porthos' face, on his shoulders and on his chest. Just the sound of ragged breathing.

 

Until Aramis purrs at Porthos playing with his hair. He curls against his side. His spectacular boyfriend. More than a boyfriend now. An actual and legal partner for all the days of their life.

 

“It almost was like my favorite cake,” Aramis reflects.

 

“Almost? Not better?”

 

“Because of you? Oh, yes, absolutely. But we should have used the whipped creamed, too. To make it perfect.”

 

Porthos chuckles, kisses Aramis' forehead. He's right. But the can is so far away and there's a lovable man snuggled with him. Their legs tangled and their hearts in sync in their drumming. The whipped cream can wait. For a few minutes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....what's Aramis' favorite cake? ;)


	19. The Grandpa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I've been fighting writer block and I've been super busy.)
> 
> This chapter picks up the day after Aramis and Porthos signed the papers for their civil partnership.

By Thursday, Anne is a bit desperate. It's been five days since Athos invited her back to his country estate with her men, like Ninon branded them. Because he has understood how important she is to his best friend, but also because he enjoys her company, too, and apparently their mothers used to know one another. So Athos promised he'd dig into old family photo albums to see if he could come up with any pictures of them as children.

 

But Anne is also looking forward to indeed spending more time with her boyfriends and to get better acquainted with Porthos' friends now that they know the truth. Anne is used to living with no one else but her son, to having the bare minimum of adult interaction. Now that she's gotten a far better taste of it since coming to Paris and acknowledging her feelings she can never be sated.

 

Counting the days until a possible reunion and date seem to make them drag on instead. And obstacles keep on appearing out of the blue. No matter how hard she wishes she could escape the city for another blessed couple of days, it's unlikely to happen and on that Thursday evening, it frustrates her to no end. So much that she could cry. Stupid work and stupid incidents at home are not helping.

 

Even on the phone, she can't conceal it. A few words that she's rehearsed though because she's hesitated for a long time before actually calling, and Aramis notices that something is up as soon as he's picked up. The trembling in her voice. How high-pitched it is. He can hear it in spite of the loud video game on TV and Charon's cheers because he's just killed his opponent. Making Aramis' character lose his head and thus his life on screen.

 

“Pause the game! Pause the game, will you!” Aramis hisses, hitting Porthos on the leg to get someone's attention. “It's Anne. Pause it!”

 

That finally makes his boyfriend do something. Charon still looks utterly pleased with himself as he settles back on the couch, smug.

 

There is so much background noise that Anne's heart sinks again. She shouldn't have called. She wanted to hear a familiar voice, couldn't decide which one she wanted to hear the most and then figured Aramis and Porthos were likely to be together anyway. But they are definitely not alone and she's disturbing a nice evening with her problems.

 

“Sorry,” Aramis says in the phone again. “All yours now. What's wrong?”

 

He's a bit upset about losing the game but more about why Anne would call unexpectedly. Usually it's because there's something wrong with Mati and that always puts Aramis on edge. Maybe now that their relationship is different, she has more reasons to call. She sure has some. He hears the big sigh on the other end of the line and it hints at the call not being just because his girlfriend wanted to say good night.

 

“I don't think I'll be able to make it this weekend.” It's a rushed confession. A mumble almost. Saying it out loud is more upsetting than when it was just a thought.

 

“How come? Are you sick?”

 

Porthos raises an eyebrow at the question, gets reprimanded when Flea realizes that he isn't paying attention to her conversation anymore. He doesn't even budge, eyes set on his boyfriend.

 

“I'm fine,” Anne replies, but it's not convincing. “I....just....There's no one to look after Mati.”

 

“Oh. I thought Const....”

 

“Her mother is coming to visit to prepare some things for the wedding and Mati would just be a burden. I also asked a few of his friends' parents at school but they are either going out of town or not willing to help. I don't know. Dimitri's sick so his mother said he couldn't come over either. I just....I'll have to stay behind, I suppose.”

 

Anne shrugs, which Aramis can't see. He understands perfectly well how down she must be feeling though.

 

“We'll find a solution, Anne. Don't worry. I'm sure....Maybe....”

 

She can't hide the disappointment and the distress in her voice. How sad she sounds to have to cancel her plans. Not that she doesn't adore spending time with her son. She does. She adores spending time with his fathers, too. And it's not so often that they can do so without the child around. Her voice breaks a little when Aramis' response stretches into a painful silence because he can't come up with a replacement.

 

Anne picks at her blanket, sinks against the soft pillows on her bed.

 

“It's fine, Aramis. Really.”

 

“No, it's not. We want you to come, too.”

 

He quickly explains the problem to his boyfriend who now has his full attention since Flea realized it was no use trying to make Porthos focus if there was the slightest chance Anne was in trouble.

 

Porthos frowns, annoyed at the news. He's been loving these days with Aramis alone, like old times. Signing significant papers the day before and hardly sleeping last night. He's loving his friends for inviting them over for dinner and video games. To cheer Flea up a bit, too, even if Aramis has no idea about _her_ sad news. But Porthos had also been loving knowing that Anne would come to the country, that he would be able to kiss her, to hold her hand, to hug her in broad daylight.

 

The girlfriend he'd never imagined he'd have. This quite impossible phenomenon which is sweeping him off his feet in a remarkable fashion. Losing control in the unknown, trusting others to no end and liking it tremendously.

 

“I want to come, too,” Anne confesses over the rumble of distant words on Aramis' side of the phone. “But it's like....yesterday and today have been rubbish and the stupid subway.... and then.....my mug....I just....I didn't want to call yesterday because it wouldn't have been fair to the both of you and....”

 

“You can call whenever you want, Anne! Anytime! You're as important as anybody else. Please. We love you.”

 

Anne smiles, shifts under her cozy blanket, cradles the phone to her ear. This is a complicated relationship even for such small details of their lives. She'll manage it eventually. She did call in the end. Besides, she's aware she's welcome. But a civil partnership and time between boyfriends were more important than her ridiculous venting.

 

“What is it that's bothering you?” Aramis presses.

 

There's another louder sigh, something which reminds Aramis of a nervous chuckle, or a sniff and he stands up. He asks if he can go to the kitchen for a moment. Porthos frowns again, wants to know what's going on but his boyfriend is perhaps better suited to take care of Anne even from far away.

 

“Bummer if she can't make it,” Flea thinks out loud, from the depths of her armchair and her magazine. Porthos looks at her with wide eyes.

 

“You hated her just last week.”

 

“Well, she wasn't your girlfriend then, was she? It's different now.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I do.”

 

She smiles brightly at her friend, closes the magazine sharply and very quickly takes advantage of the lack of gaming to claim Charon's lap, who simply goes with the flow.

 

“Go on. Ask me,” Porthos decides after a few seconds of hard staring from both of his friends. He knows what's about to be said. He's had to answer the same question a couple of times last weekend. It doesn't bother him. It means they're accepted. Except that Porthos doesn't quite know how to answer with words which would correctly reflect his state of mind.

 

“How is it, having them both?” Charon finally goes for it. It's awkward wording but it's a new situation after all.

 

“We've made it so far. It turns out I didn't know a lot about Anne as a woman so it's like having first dates and yet I've Aramis that I feel I've known forever and....but it's not that complicated. It must look like it, I guess, but...”

 

“Did you _know_ she likes knitting?” Flea suddenly interrupts.

 

“I did. She's into all of these crafts. You should see what she makes with Mati.”

 

“Well, I'm into it, too!” Flea squeaks, pleased to have found another fellow crafter somewhere she least expected it. Charon rubs her back to make her settle down, relieved she's enjoying herself instead of constantly bitching about the kid's mother.

 

“I know. You've something in common now. I mean, I'm pretty sure I mentioned it before, though.”

 

“Maybe. But find a solution, she has to come on Saturday. Maybe she isn't as plain as she looks after all.”

 

This would never be an adjective Porthos would use to describe Anne. From the first time he's met her, skyping when she lived in Madrid, six months or so into his relationship with Aramis, there's always been a richness to Anne. To her expressions, to her behavior. Even when he barely knew anything about her, Porthos had to be impressed. He hasn't stopped being and it's been a year and a half. There's nothing plain about her. She makes him feel at ease. She makes him belong. She's not even trying.

 

Flea's transformation is so sudden it's bewildering but as long as she is finding distractions and being more herself, there's no point questioning her change of heart. Porthos is glad he doesn't have to take sides. The women are worlds apart yet so was he with Anne and here they are now. Anything can happen. Even Flea being as authoritative as can be, ordering him to resolve the issue whereas Porthos is a little clueless about it. It's Aramis and Anne's job to find ways for their son to be in good hands. It'll probably become his job, too, soon.

 

He stretches to hear Aramis' words in the other room. The Spanish sushing he seems to be doing. The gentle soothing he's used so often on Porthos whenever he felt down. How Porthos craves it. The intimacy, being close to his boyfriend and being aware that he could let go completely and never break because there's someone there for him. Aramis is a gem.

 

“For you,” he says, striding back to the couch after a while, arm oustretched towards Porthos.

 

Anne feels better already, if only a little. Relieved to have been able to talk about everything that had been bothering her. Like old times. When rushing to the phone or the computer for Aramis was as natural as living. She'd tried to restrain herself a bit knowing that Porthos was in the picture now, that she couldn't intrude on them when she wasn't a part of their relationship. This has changed and she's welcome. Not that there ever was a time when she wasn't, Aramis reminded her.

 

The reassurance that they'll make it work one way or the other is almost enough to carry her through the rest of the week. It gets better when she hears Porthos' deep voice on the phone.

 

“Hey,” he says, letting Aramis find his favorite spot under his boyfriend's arm. “Are you okay?”

 

“I'll be, yes. Thank you. I just wanted to say hello to you, too.”

 

“Hello then.”

 

There's a low chuckle before Anne replies.

 

“Aramis tells me you're winning.”

 

“I am. Best player all around. He's having trouble with his right and his left. Poor man.”

 

Aramis complains so loudly that Anne can hear it amid her own giggles. Her mood has definitely improved. She chews on her candy, listening to the banter.

 

“Any plans for tonight?” Porthos asks.

 

“I'm in bed in my pjs eating sweets.”

 

“Excellent plans! Perfect even. Save some for Saturday. And by that I mean that no matter what happens, I'll find a way to see you,” he adds in a hurry. He won't spend more days than necessary without seeing her. It's out of the question.

 

“Yes, that'd be nice.”

 

“It's a date, then?”

 

“Yes.” Anne smiles into the phone, wishes she could conjure him and his warm voice in her bedroom so she could hug him tight. “I'll let you go back to your game now.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Take care,” she decides, because even though she's constantly telling Aramis that she loves him, she doesn't want to say so to Porthos on the phone. Not when she hasn't told him in person yet. But hearing his voice makes her heart all fuzzy and happy. It's all going very fast, an outburst of new feelings yet those, she welcomes gladly.

 

“ _You_ take care. Sleep tight.”

 

“I will now,” she promises and the line goes silent.

 

Porthos stares at the phone in awe for a few seconds. He can't manage to explain with actual meaningful words what it does to him to have both Aramis and Anne. It's clear in his heart and his mind yet it's just confusing to try and make others see his side of it. He trusts the calm and happiness rushing through his body because of his boyfriend snuggled next to him, still pouting about the jokes, and because of his girlfriend, far away in the city yet so alive and close on the phone.

 

It's like dividing his love but not to weaken it. To strenghten it instead. He loves Aramis more for accepting it all, for being able to magnify his own feelings for Anne as well.

 

“What was the problem? Apart from Mati?” Porthos wants to know. Aramis rests his head against his shoulder.

 

“He broke her favorite mug. By accident. But he did and then he threw a fit when he couldn't walk around while she swept it all up. And he said no to a bedtime story because he was still upset.”

 

“His loss.” Porthos shakes his head, sympathizing. He's had his fair share of tantrums.

 

“No doubt he'll want double tomorrow night.”

 

“Kids.”

 

“Yep. Sometimes it must feel good not having any. Right?” Aramis looks up to Charon and Flea who look a bit frozen in space, in their cuddle. “What? What is it?”

 

Porthos seems shocked, too, when Aramis cranes his head up, unaware of what he's said and its potential impact.

 

“You haven't told him?” Flea finally snaps out of the dull pain in her chest.

 

“Told me what?”

 

“You didn't tell me I could,” Porthos explains, astonished that his friends would find it surprising that he kept the secret.

 

“Did I do something wrong? What's going on?”

 

Aramis' face falls and his heart clenches once Flea has taken a deep breath and clarified everything. He has no word, except that he's mortified and he stammers his apology. His cheeks are a bright red but then Flea buries more against Charon, her head in the crook of his neck.

 

That's a safe spot. Aramis didn't know. It's not his fault. It's no one's fault actually. Besides, her doctor was correct: telling more people is helpful. It helps to voice what's bothering her and it's easier to mourn and think about another future.

 

“We'll look into adoption when we'll have had time to digest the news,” Charons assures them. It's all they've been talking about for weeks. Much healthier than shouts and tears about not being able to conceive when it was never on their agenda until it became impossible.

 

“And I was thinking that until then, you know, if you guys need some time together with your girlfriend, we could babysit. Often. Right, honey?”

 

“......sure.”

 

Charon isn't so thrilled about the “often” part of the offer but he couldn't deny Flea anything at this point.

 

“That'd be fantastic, yes,” Aramis smiles. “As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable...”

 

“It'd help. And he's sweet. Most of the time. But you can't count on us this weekend. We're going to the country with you.”

 

“That's a tricky one.” Aramis frowns, chewing on a nail. “If only our parents lived closer, we wouldn't have this problem.”

 

“You should ask Tréville then!” Flea exclaims, sitting up straight, sliding off Charon's lap in the enthusiasm of her brilliant idea. She's so smart. The men should have thought of it before she did.

 

“My dad?”

 

“Do you know any others? He's in the city, he's likely not doing anything and you always say he's crazy about the kid. Splendid solution. Plus, you don't have to pay him.”

 

“I don't think....”

 

“Aramis, what do _you_ think?” she asks, given that Porthos seems too stunned to respond correctly.

 

He's speechless and useless, turning the idea in his head, thinking of its ramifications. Of telling his dad what's changed in his life lately. It's obvious for him and it was going to happen at one point. Porthos isn't so sure he's been able to remain neutral the last times he spoke with Tréville and he happened to have to mention Anne. He's useless on that front, too. Like a teenager so smitten that he finds everything she does and says extraordinary.

 

Aramis always comforts him by saying that Tréville will accept the news. That he's accepted Porthos and everything that made him for years and years and that he's loved. A lot. Porthos may have a particular relationship with his adoptive father, bordering on friendship sometimes, so unlike the one Aramis has with his own father, it's still a marvelous one. Porthos shouldn't be afraid to tell him. And he isn't. Not really. Anxious, he is a bit. It'll go well.

 

“I trust him with Mati, that's for sure,” Aramis replies, liking the idea a great deal. If it should indeed happen, Aramis will only be sorry he won't be around to take pictures. Tréville taking care of his son, spoiling him more like, it's always a sight. He squeezes Porthos' hand.

 

“He's never spent more than an afternoon with him. He may not...”

 

“Well, ask him. If you're okay with it. Anne could come with us. Just imagine.”

 

Porthos is imagining all right. His fingers aren't that steady when he dials the number because Flea decided it was early enough to call right away. That Tréville may be old, he wasn't ancient and he wouldn't be in bed at half past eight on a the week night. The bathroom is ridiculously small but it gives him some privacy. Porthos wasn't going to have this discussion with an audience. Be it made of his best friends and his boyfriend.

 

He precariously sits on the edge of the bathtub waiting for Tréville to pick up.

 

“What's the emergeny?” comes the gruffy greeting. “Trouble on your honeymoon?”

 

“You're so funny I could just hang up on you.”

 

“I'm watching a riveting movie.”

 

“One you must have watched dozens of times already. No doubt.”

 

“Irrelevant.”

 

“There's no emergency. Not really. It's more a...favor?”

 

“If you need money, I won't believe you.”

 

“Are you doing something this weekend?”

 

“Probably. Why?”

 

“No, I meant: do you have any big commitments that can't be avoided?”

 

“Let me check.”

 

Porthos hears shuffling, the sounds of the movie, stuff clinging and pages being turned.

 

“None of those. Why?”

 

“We're looking for someone to look after Mati for a couple of days since Athos forbid us from bringing him to the estate.”

 

“For his sanity?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Two days? And nights, I suppose? I don't know, Porthos. I....Can't his mother watch him for you?”

 

“That's the problem. Anne's coming with us as well. We're going, the three of us.”

 

There's a short pause then and Porthos breathes out.

 

“Is Ninon coming? Didn't you say they were getting along?”

 

“Nope. Well, yes they are but Ninon's in England. She's coming to be with us.”

 

“I see.” What Tréville sees is a little unclear to Porthos who decides he hates having this conversation over the phone. It doesn't make it easier. “You're doing an awful lot with her these days, Porthos.”

 

It's not a reprimand, merely an observation. Porthos has been talking a lot about her, and it would have been absurd to expect that his dad wouldn't at least notice a shift in Porthos' attitude. Regardless of how little Tréville has actually met Anne. After all, it took him months to mention his boyfriend at the beginning and here he is, mentioning Anne so often when she's supposed to only be an acquaintance.

 

“I am. She's great company,” Porthos says, hating saying so little but feeling it's more than enough for the time being.

 

“Is that all?”

 

“Dad....I.....no. That's not all.” He knows when to concede defeat when needed. “But I'm not discussing this on the phone.”

 

“So there _is_ something to discuss?”

 

“Yes. I can explain everything later, I swear.”

 

“That'd be spectacular because you've lost me a little.”

 

“Yes, I've things to tell you but Mati, Dad?”

 

Porthos hears a long sigh this time and the sound of someone sinking in a couch. Tréville groans.

 

“You can play football and he's still learning how to ride his bike so you could go to the park,” Porthos tries to sound convincing. Not desperate since he's not liking the tone his father has taken. “And he loves your soldier stories and...”

 

“All right, all right. He'll drink Coca Cola and eat fries, though. And if he cries at night, I'll take it out of _your_ allowance.”

 

“You just said I didn't need money, Dad. But thank you.”

 

“And you have some explaining to do, I believe.”

 

“I'm not a child anymore.”

 

“Same thing.”

 

“Go back to your movie. I'll see you on Saturday. Thank you.”

 

“Yes, yes. I've just poured myself the last glass of that fine whiskey you gave me for Christmas, by the way.”

 

“You got it.”

 

Porthos takes the hint, hanging up, chuckling. Closing his eyes and drawing a shaky breath. It wasn't so bad.

 

Porthos is still trembling even though he's smiling, too. His dad will be fine. He almost has all the pieces of the puzzle already and Porthos can understand how his behavior would come off as peculiar. It'll be a fantastic week-end once they've talked. Even before they do because Tréville didn't sound disapproving or cold. Perhaps having to take care of Mati will make his son's news less of a shock. If it is one at all.

 

It's a relief to have sorted out what was on Anne's mind so Porthos texts her before he even tells Aramis. She calls back fast and in these few minutes since their last conversation, he can hear how her mood has metamorphosed. Her chirpy voice and the endless thank yous. How impatient she is and how she hardly lets him respond to her questions.

 

She's cute.

 

Her toes curl under the sheets when he manages to say this. She's cute and he likes her a lot and he wishes he could kiss her right now. Kiss her cute face. That makes her hum with delight and Saturday can't come soon enough.

 

* * *

 

When the day eventually rolls around, the men spend most of it at the gym. Porthos has to work, and teach a couple of classes so Aramis tags along. To do some work-out of his own, but mostly to simply sit on a sofa and read. To keep company to the girl at the front desk or to chat with his boyfriend whenever he takes a break.

 

To suggest a hot shower and tug on Porthos' tank top, right there in the middle of the lobby. Aramis has been feeling amazing lately, life being gentle and it seems that he can't get enough of touching Porthos. In any setting. Like it was at the very beginning. Like it's always been actually. Kisses have never hurt anybody and people just don't have to look. Besides, Porthos could never refuse his boyfriend's flirting eyes, his hand running so casually in his hair. His goofy smiles and his smooth hands on Porthos' arms. Tingling touches which make the ordeal of working less tedious. And they drown the mild complaints Porthos has about being so intimate in a public and professional place.

 

The class he teaches in the afternoon only seems to last a few minutes because of the growing anticipation. Of the incoming free time he'll have with people he loves. Since Porthos knows he has his own fan waiting for him to help clean him up and to comfort him on the way out. Aramis must find the long hours boring sometimes, though. If he does, he never complains about it. There's no other place he'd rather be. Bed, perhaps, but anywhere with Porthos is good in his books.

 

Except that when Porthos walks out of the fitness room, with his towel around his neck and a water bottle in hand, his boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. He's been replaced by their girlfriend which isn't such a surprise but a welcome treat anyway.

 

Anne waiting by the bay window, eyes searching and her grin lighting them up in an instant. The way her entire body relaxes at the mere sight of Porthos. Gorgeous, real and clearly delighted to see her, too. Like it never was before. He's still wondering where Aramis has gone to but for now, Anne is all that he can focus on.

 

Her hair, soft against his fingertips when he bends down to hug her. Her giggles, pure against his face when he realizes he's sweaty and he shouldn't have touched her. She comes back for more nonetheless. Her arms, small but strong around his waist and her head, steady on his chest. Hugging to make up for all the days of the week when she's been without this warmth. This erratic hearbeat and ragged breathing. Porthos after working out smells real and human. There's nothing he can hide and Anne adores it.

 

Porthos as an entire being is magnificent. Everything about him. Anne loves it. The rush of emotions and the profund calm in her mind from being close to him. They could stay in this position in the middle of the gym for hours. She's craved that for too long and Porthos is willing to provide whatever comfort she might seek.

 

“I told you I'd see you no matter what,” Porthos eventually says, drawing back. “And I'm not saying goodbye until Monday. How's that?”

 

“Great? And I can't believe your dad is doing this for us. I bought him chocolates.”

 

“Then he'll love you, too.”

 

Porthos cocks his head and watches her huff out a small chuckle. He watches her lips stretch and her mouth open slightly as she laughs. Her eyelids close for a second and her fists curl on his top, unwilling to let go. Porthos looks up, finds the employees at the front desk adverting their gaze and decides to give them some more to gossip about. After all, their embrace is too intimate as it is to be only between two friends. He'll do what he damn wants.

 

He dips his head and gives Anne a peck on the lips. He's past thinking twice about that. She's made it obvious he was welcome to do so. Her lips press against his. She has years of not being kissed to forget. With him and with Aramis.

 

“Where did you put your son, by the way?”

 

“With his father. Playing.” She tilts her head towards the daycare room.

 

“Of course. I'll go change and grab my stuff then. You're welcome to come,” he adds, brushing his lips to hers again.

 

Porthos doesn't have to offer it twice. Anne happily follows him to his office. It's been weeks since she's been in the room, held back by her foolish guilt and embarassment. The door closing behind her leaves Anne wrapped in awkward silence and she has to stare at the couch. The spot she was sitting in when she kissed Porthos for the first time. A stupid impulse. One which has been forgiven yet one she will always cringe when she thinks about it.

 

Wringing her hands and trying to stop reliving the painful scene, she fails to notice Porthos taking his clothes off to put on clean ones. There's a cloud of strong-scented deodorant in the small office. She wouldn't be able to say what Porthos was talking about. He, on the other hand, notices the lack of attention.

 

“You all right?”

 

He didn't think she'd still be put out by him being down to his underwear. She's seen him in less than that and he doesn't recall her looking away when this happened. The new track pants feel fresh on his skin, the hoodie, too so he won't waste precious time by taking a shower now.

 

“I am,” Anne assures him, clearing her throat. “I was just thinking...how stupid it was of me to...kiss you like that that day.”

 

She gestures to the couch, a blush on her cheeks. Porthos ties his shoes, stands up from the very couch to stride to her. All caring eyes.

 

“We're here again, aren't we? And we're good. Who knows? If you hadn't done it, we might still be stuck in the same difficult situation we were in at the time.”

 

“I very much like the new one,” Anne confesses, stating the obvious. Letting Porthos grab her hand to play with her fingers. How can this sweet man really be her boyfriend? When did she become so lucky? She steps a little closer.

 

“And if I kiss you now,” he shrugs casually, makes her laugh and flashes her that smile which makes his dimples shine, their faces close enough for Porthos to get lost in the blue of her eyes, “I'll give you a far better memory to associate with the place.”

 

Anne's mouth melts against his, tender and hot. Wet and opening with a sigh. The wall is hard against her back, Porthos' hands solid on her waist, clutching the light blouse. She can feel them on her skin despite the clothing. A small fire surging from them and the intoxicating scent of exercising lingering about. Appealing. Not repulsing in the least. Porthos moans a bit around a tongue more eager than Anne has ever been. She's not hesitating on that front either anymore.

 

Her hands are soft in his hair, gliding on his neck. Under his clothes. Playing with the short curls, cradling his head, his face, against hers. Their noses bump but it doesn't deter them. Teeth cling when they smile. Then they laugh and Porthos kisses her cheek. She's not blushing anymore.

 

“How's that instead, eh?”

 

“Perfect,” Anne whispers, liking the pressure of his hands on her hips. How they could probably touch elsewhere and she wouldn't mind one bit.

 

She loves having them both with her at the same time, Porthos and Aramis. Because they seem to crowd around her, to make her feel safe and wanted and desired and she can hardly breathe from the attention. But Porthos on his own is nice, too. He's attentive and downright lovable. Adorable. The entire world would fall for him if it could.

 

“I brought you some of this candy we talked about the other day.”

 

She'll give him later. She's not letting him go now. Porthos tugs a loose lock of hair behind her ear, then traces the outline of her forehead, down her cheek and her jawline.

 

“And that's why I like you. Very much.”

 

Anne bites her lip at the words, a spark in her eyes. This is a splendid life. She stops herself short from squeaking with glee.

 

They break apart at the loud knock on the door.

 

“I've a child!” Aramis shouts as a warning before he barges in the office.

 

Mati skips in front of him, taking in the familiar surroundngs. The couch which he so often naps in. The computer that Porthos lets him play on. His mother and his stepfather not minding the intrusion in the slightest. And the boy wanders to Porthos to say hello.

 

“I'm staying with your dad, Porfos!” he exclaims, tugging on Porthos' fingers, making their arms swing in the air.

 

“You are! Are you excited?”

 

“We'll play football, Porfos?”

 

“Most certainly. You'll ask him but yeah, I guess you will.”

 

“Cool! Let's go, Porfos!”

 

The small strength of the child drags his stepfather away from Anne and the loose grip he had on her waist. Aramis barely has time to smirk at the others for the kissing he clearly interrupted before they all get going. Anne is cozy walking next to him, her hand in his and it's all so natural, so _them_ that it should always have been like this.

 

Maybe it's always been. It's simply better now. With her joy and her light heart and the feeling that everything is in its right place. That they make a perfect, beautiful family, with or without their son. While it's good to be four, being three is reaching new heights rapidly. Porthos doesn't look as nervous as he said he was when they woke up, to know he'd have to talk to his father. And Anne is a picture of cheerfulness, her silly problems from the past week forgotten now that she is with them both. With her son, too, but with the men that she loves as well and they cancel out the rest. There's nothing that can get to her when she's with them, of that she's certain.

 

* * *

 

The chocolate box is extremely appreciated, especially the alcohol-filled treats. A great touch that Anne thought of by herself. Tréville ate one on the spot, then would have eaten more because the prospect of Porthos and the boy's parents leaving him alone with Mati is a little terrifying. But he's too busy listening to the endless list of recommendations to indulge.

 

Breakfast and bed time. Nightlights and TV. Cartoons and toys. Milk and bath time. Pjs and teddy bears. Shoes and jeans and jacket. Toothbrush and good manners. Food to avoid tantrums. Aramis bought so much to relieve his father-in-law that Tréville is all set for more than the two days and two nights Mati will be under his care. And the kid looks happy enough.

 

He knows the house. He knows Porthos' old bedroom where he's napped once or twice in the past. He knows the cabinet with the toy soldiers he loves to admire. He knows the shelf where Tréville keeps the soft drinks. Her son will have a fantastic time, Anne is sure of it. He won't miss her at all.

 

“And you,” Aramis says, focusing on the boy for a moment after they've put his bag in the bedroom, “must be polite and well-behaved when we'll be gone.” Mati nods, understanding. “Thank you and please and no screams or we'll hear about it. You want to have a good time and shouts just aren't a part of it.”

 

“Yes, Papá. We'll play football? ….Please?”

 

“If you want to, yes,” Tréville replies. That's a request he's content enough to grant. “I was thinking we could go to the orphanage to pay the children a visit. There'd be more friends to play with there.” And more adult supervision.

 

“That's a terrific idea, Dad!”

 

They did promise the child they'd return more often.

 

“And we'll ride my bike? …..Please?”

 

“We packed all of his protection gear so he's good to go.” Anne pats the bag, erasing whatever concern Tréville might have had about this activity. Mati claps his hands.

 

“I ride a bike with my grandpa and the dogs, too!” He pauses in his train of thoughts for a second. He studies Tréville closely, craning his head. “Are you also my grandpa?”

 

“Your....”

 

Thank goodness Tréville wasn't eating anything. Otherwise he would have swallowed his tongue from the shock of the innocent question. Porthos clasps his father's back, as surprised as he is yet proud of the little boy. Aramis is biting his cheek.

 

“Yes! Because Porfos is my dad, you know! My second dad!” Mati holds up two fingers, high in the air. “He's like you. He didn't make me, Papá said, but I love him so he can be my dad. I can have two. And Mamá. I have just one of her.”

 

Mati turns his head fast to find his parents behind him. Anne assures them he's been repeating this constantly for the past week, ever since his outburst at Athos' estate. She's quite positive everyone at school is now aware of their familial arrangement.

 

Tréville is a little speechless still.

 

“Do you want my dad to be your grandpa?” Porthos prompts, to which Mati nods enthusiastically. For all the reasons he mentioned earlier. “Then he is. Right, Dad?”

 

“.....sure.”

 

Tréville is stunned yet not enough to not scowl at Porthos for trying not to laugh out loud. He's had his share of strong emotions thanks to Mati and the changes in his status. It makes Porthos a bit emotional to see his father overwhelmed by the boy as well. By how effortless it is to gain more family members to love and spend time with.

 

“So you're going through with the adoption process?” Tréville later asks, observing Anne stock his fridge with kid food which has been tested and approved by her son. Porthos nods thoughtfully. “Congratulations again, by the way. We'll have to celebrate properly another time.”

 

“Oh, right!” Anne suddenly remembers, twirling to face the men. Aramis sitting at the kitchen table and Porthos leaning against the wall. “I completely forgot! Congratulations!”

 

She texted them many times on Wednesday yet never actually told them in person. She makes to hug the closest one of them, but her hands are full and Tréville has been eyeing her curiously ever since greeting her so it might be best to wait until he's talked with Porthos.

 

“For what?” Mati inquires. “Congratulation for what, Mamá?”

 

“Porthos and I signed some important papers, buddy,” Aramis explains. “So he could become a member of my family.”

 

“And Mamá, too?”

 

“Just with Porthos. You can only sign those with one person. And then, Porthos will be able to become an actual father to you. More than he already is. It'll be awesome.”

 

“But....you love Mamá, too! You kiss her! And Porfos! She can be your family, too!”

 

“She already is, champion. We made you together, remember? These are the papers we have in common, Mamá and I. I simply have others with Porthos.”

 

“Hmmm....Okay.”

 

“Hey, buddy. Why don't we go pick a game to bring downstairs to play with? Mamá can come and help us choose.”

 

“Absolutely! Let's go!”

 

Anne puts all her boxes on the kitchen counter at once. She hasn't finished putting the food away but every single word said by Mati has registered with Tréville, including the mention of kisses. He started in his chair then, he's been staring at Porthos ever since. The scrutiny is a little annoying. Too intense. As if Porthos had been caught doing something forbidden and was going to be grounded for weeks on end. It hasn't happened since he was a teenager.

 

The fridge can wait as the three of them disappear up the stairs. With a heavy, loaded sigh Porthos pushes himself off the wall to face what has been nagging him since Thursday night. There's no point beating around the bush now. He just _knew_ Mati would out them at one point.

 

“Kids, right?”

 

Tréville watches him claim Aramis' abandoned chair. Porthos crosses his arms on his chest. Uncrosses them. Rests his hands on the table. Then on his legs.

 

“I'm lost,” Tréville concedes.

 

“Yeah, so you said. There's been some....changes. With Anne.”

 

“I gathered. But I still don't understand.”

 

“We're dating her. Both of us. We're dating. The three of us.”

 

That's all there is to say after all.

 

Tréville frowns. Opens his mouth. Closes it again. Squints as if to see through Porthos.

 

“But you just got a civil partnership. How can you date her, too? Isn't it....”

 

“It's not. Cheating, if that's what you were thinking. We all know what we're doing.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Porthos is a little taken aback. Tréville's tone is absolutely not aggressive. He seems genuinely curious, trying to untangle the web woven around his son and his relationships.

 

“They love each other. It's obvious. Even I could see it the first time I met her. And I still remember how passionate you were about Aramis at the beginning.”

 

“I still am.”

 

“And I'm really happy you've found someone like him. After everything. I really am. That you're building something you never imagined you could have. I _am_ proud of you, Porthos. A lot.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“But you told me once you were scared of losing him.”

 

How can his dad remember such small details from years ago? Porthos never supposed his well-being, his romantic involvement and its impact on his life could matter so much to Tréville. How wrong he was.

 

“Are you sure,” Tréville goes on, “that you're not doing this so you don't lose Aramis? I've never heard of three people dating. It's....odd.”

 

“Maybe it is. But no. I can assure you I'm dating Anne because I like her. A great deal. She's....I mean, you've seen her. Soft and pretty and so clever. The smartest woman. When she looks at me, I feel like I'm so deeply trusted and wanted.” And _loved_. Porthos is positive. “She's amazing. I really, _really_ like her. I still love Aramis, though. It's a strange concept, I agree, and I understand you may not get it, but I want to be happy with them both. And besides, you said it yourself, they love each other, too.”

 

“And that satisfies you?”

 

Tréville can't wrap his head around the idea. With time he'll probably will. Porthos had hinted at it a couple of times yet Tréville had always thought it was too far-fetched and improbable to actually be true. As long as no one is going to treat his son like garbage and toss him aside when they're done, Porthos is old and responsible enough to know what he wants. Tréville has no business telling him how to live his life.

 

“It does,” Porthos replies, resolute.

 

“Do you all live together?”

 

“Nope. It's only been a month. And Anne likes having her own place and sleeping by herself.”

 

“I don't need to know about that!”

 

These are images Tréville never wants in his mind. Porthos smirks and they're good. They're okay. He can feel it in his bones. The disgust in his father's voice isn't because of who Porthos decides to love and how many of them there are, but because he doesn't want to hear about Porthos in bed. Never.

 

Porthos feels lighter. Stronger. Aramis was correct. Porthos realizes he knew it would unfold like this. Tréville is so accepting of whatever betters his adoptive son's life. A child, his parents. A family in the end.

 

“Are you happy?” he demands, just to confirm it.

 

“I am.”

 

“Okay, then. Thank you for clearing it up.”

 

Without that weight on his shoulders and in his heart, Porthos reclines in his chair. He wipes his sweaty palms on his track pants, finding them shaking with relief. He smiles at Tréville.

 

Small feet tumble down the stairs, pieces of a boardgame rattling inside the box, Mati shrilling about pigs and monkeys. Tréville winces. Porthos' life changing means his own life is impacted. That it'll be less quiet for the weekend. That it'll be more crowded for years and years to come.

 

He clutches Porthos' shoulder on his way to the living room and to Aramis asking the child to calm down. Porthos' legs are a little unsteady as he wanders over there as well. His vision is a bit hazy until he can focus on his boyfriend crouching by the coffee table, Tréville sitting on the couch, listening to gibberish instructions from Mati.

 

Porthos nods once, quickly, and Aramis beams in response. Anne sees this, from her spot by the entrance and decides that now, one of her men deserves a hug. Porthos welcomes her gladly. Her arm around his back. Her hand on his stomach and her cheek against his chest.

 

And even for Tréville who witnesses the open display of affection for the first time, it looks utterly normal. Natural.

 


	20. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "whole sentences in italics" = Spanish

In the car going to the country, Aramis isn't sad at all to relinquish the passenger seat to Anne. It means he can lounge in the beackseat, find a somewhat comfortable position. He's all too happy to have a designated driver which means there isn't a single worry whatsoever in Aramis' mind. Not about his son, not about Porthos' father. Not about anything. They've grabbed dinner after getting the car, disregarding the severe rule that there shouldn't be any eating in it. Everything is perfectly fine.

 

You'd think from the way he devoured it that it was Aramis who'd spent the day working and sweating. Not Porthos. And the drive is making him drowsy as well, like it always does. It's lucky they have Anne around so she can keep their boyfriend company.

 

The music is so soft on the radio that it's an excellent lullaby. Hardly two hours to reach Athos' estate and even though he is aware he'll be cranky when he's awoken upon their arrival, Aramis can never quite fight his eyes closing slowly. The occasional conversation in front of him, the familiar voices, they help too.

 

Anne is content for a while to listen to Porthos recount what it was like to talk with his father. He may have been as anxious to tell Tréville as she is to tell her parents. Although Porthos's outcome was happy and his father reacted like an understanding person, it'd be too much to ask if the same thing happened to her. She can still hope and she has to tell them at one point, she's very aware of it. Even if Porthos doesn't press it too much when he reassures her, Anne knows she has to. It's the only way for her to stop constantly worrying about it.

 

Her parents are strangers to Porthos, people he's tried not to judge without knowing yet how they treated Aramis in the past -and sometimes still do- is enough to make Porthos despise them. So he gets why Anne is reluctant. If he glances at her in the semi-darkness on the highway, Parisian suburbs flashing on either side of the road, he can see her fidget and chew on her lip. He'd hold her hand if he didn't need both of his.

 

Perhaps it's best to drop the subject for now, especially since they seem to have acquired another sleeping child. A cute one. In the rearview mirror, Porthos catches glimpses of Aramis' slack face, head thrown back, mouth pursed and arms tight against his chest. Eyes shut so close there could be an earthquake he'd probably just shift a little and continue with his slumber. Sleeping like a baby.

 

Anne chuckles at the comparison, turning her head to assess it for herself.

 

“But without the hassle that is an actual baby,” she remarks.

 

“I'll take your word on that.”

 

“Speaking of babies....,” she starts after a slight hesitation. Surprised, Porthos looks at her all of a sudden and the car swerves a bit. Anne catches the armrest. “What are you....”

 

“What babies?”

 

Porthos clears his throat when it sounds too shocked and desperate. What babies, indeed. They've never actually made love. What.... Aramis mumbles in the background. In a passing light, Anne notices the wild look in Porthos' eyes before he speaks again. Stammers, more like.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I've been....thinking about it and I....I started taking the pill again. I stopped ages ago but you know....now....in case....”

 

“Oh. Right.” Porthos can literally hear his heart drum and he grips the steering-wheel with both hands. Why would she scare him like that? “I thought.....Never mind.”

 

He shakes his head to clear his mind. Grabs the bottle of water because his throat is suddenly incredibly dry.

 

“I wanted you to know, that's all.” Anne shrugs it off.

 

In the darkness, he can't make out her blush. When will she stop behaving like a teenager when it comes to these things? Anne is annoyed at herself for being self-conscious. It's totally normal to discuss it. Among adults who find themselves together in bed. It wouldn't be responsible not to. They've often been too caught up in each other and the moment the few times it's happened to do it before.

 

What Anne is positive about is that it's blown her mind every single night they've spent together. She'd be lying if it wasn't what she expected for the weekend. They're so patient with her, these incredible men. Anne feels more confident now and things go so smoothly on that front, too. Idyllic. She thinks she's ready for more.

 

And now Porthos knows that she is okay for more or she wouldn't have just told him what she did.

 

However, the implication behind the mention of the pill hasn't gone further than the scare of potential pregnancy for Porthos. Unexpected and unwanted as far as he's concerned. Undiscussed. What a burden it would be in a life which is already chaotic enough to navigate for the time being. She could have chosen a better phrasing. Or wait for him to not be driving.

 

After all, Porthos never really had to worry about this aspect of relationships before. This doesn't happen when you date men. He's aware one day Aramis came back home with condoms. Not for them both together. They don't need them. They ran tests to make sure of that. For Anne. Just in case, as well. The box is still sealed. It may be in his boyfriend's suitcase in the trunk. In case matters develop. But the pill? Porthos didn't think about it. At all.

 

Until now and Anne gave him the fright of his life. A stupid thing it was to imagine something of the sort could happen. A baby? Her? Pregnant? Stupid yet Porthos' hand shakes around the plastic bottle while Anne has reverted to thoughtful silence after her confession.

 

Water spills down Porthos' shirt when he chokes on his swallow.

 

“Shit!”

 

“Here, give it to me!” Anne offers quickly, bending forward to find tissues in her purse. Only to blindly extend her hand toward Porthos to knock the bottle down his lap.

 

“Fuck!”

 

The seat is wet, too, now and he sits up straighter, jerking the car to the right, avoiding the one about to pass him on the left.

 

“I'm sorry!” Anne exclaims, feeling around for the inside light. She secures the bottle, mostly empty by now, shakes her arm because her sleeve is also wet, and makes to wipe Porthos' neck. Only to aggraviate him further, it would seem.

 

“Give me that,” he snaps, snatching the paper tissue from her hand. “And switch that off.”

 

“It's easier to see...”

 

“It's blinding me.”

 

“Hold on so I can....”

 

“I can't drive, Anne! Switch it off!”

 

“Okay! No need to yell at me,” she replies, taken aback by the coldness and sharpness of his voice. The annoyance in it. She sinks back in her seat.

 

“I'm not yelling.”

 

“Aren't you? Well, if you ever do, let me know so I can hear how you sound when you truly are angry.”

 

“And I'm not angry,” Porthos hisses, pulling on his track pants, trying to find a part of his seat which is still dry. With no luck.

 

“It's not my fault you missed your mouth, you know. I was just trying to help.”

 

“I don't need help. Thank you very much. Now, stop talking.”

 

“Excuse me? You don't tell me to shut up, Porthos!”

 

Anne jumps with fury at his words, banging her elbow against the door. Pain spreads down her forearm to her fingers. Porthos glances at her when she winces, turned that she is so she can face him. Rubbing her arm.

 

“I didn't say that, did I? I need quiet to drive.”

 

“You didn't seem to need it before.”

 

“Well, I need it now. So please, Anne.”

 

Porthos realizes it comes out a little harsher than he expected. He's uncomfortable from the soaked clothes, shaken by the misunderstanding triggered earlier by Anne. Distractions are not appreciated for the moment.

 

Anne squints and frowns. Opens her mouth to retort something, again, because that is not the Porthos she knows. But then she decides it's probably better to let him calm down. And her. What ever pushed his buttons.

 

It lasts for about five minutes. Anne plays with her bracelet, her head against the headrest. Porthos' profile shines once in a while in cars' headlights but the roads are more or less completely dark now. His jaw is set, nothing to relax it. The way he changes gear is stiff. He pulls on the collar of his shirt again and curses.

 

“We could stop so.....,” Anne starts to offer.

 

“I can drive. Thank you.”

 

Anne takes a ridiculous long breath. She's growing tired of being snapped at for no reason.

 

“I never said you couldn't.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“You could change clothes, if you want.”

 

“That'd make us late.”

 

“I wasn't aware there was a specific time for us to arrive.”

 

“There isn't. I don't want to spend all night in this car. And this music sucks,” Porthos decides, turning the radio off altogether. Anne huffs out.

 

“I liked this piece. It reminds me....”

 

“Well, you're not the one driving, are you?”

 

“ _No_ , since you seem to think I'm incapable of it.”

 

“Will you _stop_ putting words in my mouth?”

 

“Will you stop yelling at me?” Anne shouts back, a bit too loud but when she is pushed too far, she won't let people trample her. No matter who they are or how peculiar their behavior is.

 

The shout echoes in the car and Aramis grumbles in the backseat.

 

“I am _not_ yelling!” Porthos says on a tone which suggests the complete opposite. Anne scoffs.

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Do _not_ whatever me, Anne. I'm serious.”

 

“Or what? You'll leave me by the side of the road?”

 

Porthos jerks his head at the ludicrous idea and rolls his eyes. He sees the traffic light turn red a second too late.

 

“Careful!”

 

On instinct, Anne makes to grab the steering-wheel, as if it could change something. Porthos slams on the brakes. There's no other car around so no danger but she clearly doesn't trust him to drive them safely to their destination and it's pissing him off.

 

“It's fine! Geez! I know what I'm doing!”

 

“I'm just trying to be helpful, Porthos.”

 

“I told you I don't need your help. You've done plenty already,” he mutters, loud enough for her to hear it anyway, even when the car starts again. Anne throws her hands in the air.

 

“What, in the name of God, is your problem tonight?”

 

“I'm sitting in a pool of water by your fault...”

 

“My fault? My fault, Porthos? _Are you serious? Really? Jesus Christ. I'll stop trying to help if that's how you thank me!”_

 

“I can understand you, you know.”

 

“ _I know. I'm counting on it. I can't believe you.”_

 

“I can't believe you won't let me in peace either.”

 

“ _If that's what you want, then fine! I'll just let you be then!”_

 

“Yes, please!”

 

“Did I miss something?” comes Aramis' groggy voice. His neck is sore. Too many screams to stay asleep. He rubs his eyes, yawns and his joints crack when he moves. “Has a war started?”

 

“ _Porthos doesn't want me to talk to him anymore.”_

 

“ _How come?”_

 

“ _I'm good for nothing.”_

 

“You're doing it again!” Porthos yells, slamming his hand down on the steering-wheel.

 

“What? What have I done this time?”

 

“You're infuriating! I never said you were good for nothing! Aramis, tell her.”

 

“Woah, woah. Don't involve me in this.” Aramis holds his hands up, feeling sorry that his quiet sleep was interrupted for this nonsense. “That's between the two of you. I was asleep. I didn't hear any of your conversation.”

 

His brain is still foggy, unable to understand how a peaceful car drive and an evening which started so well could have escalated into this massive argument. Besides, Aramis believes he's never heard Anne shrill at another human being like this. Not even when scolding their son. No matter how much Aramis wants to know what's happened, he's not taking sides. That's not his job. It's a fight between a boyfriend and a girlfriend. They'll resolve it on their own.

 

Porthos grunts, displeased, glances at Anne but says nothing. She's keeping her word, too, settling as far away from him as she can. Her head against the door, the window cool on her forehead. The silence is a little more oppressive than the argument was, Aramis decides. He ponders turning on the music, because why is there no music? His boyfriend needs music to drive. Always. But he isn't keen on fueling whatever problem there seems to be between Porthos and Anne.

 

So he sits uncomfortably for the rest of the drive. A painful half hour with not a single word spoken at all. It's somewhat a relief to spot Flea and Alice at the end of the large alley leading up to the mansion. Looking at stars thanks to the cloudless night, they inform them.

 

There's still some tension in the air, in spite of how cordial Porthos is with his friends, and of how much Anne smiles to thank everyone for having her again. She seems happy enough to not be in the car anymore. Not fond of the idea of late snacks and all too glad they've had dinner earlier in Paris so she can use it as an excuse to go straight to her room.

 

She snatches her bag from Porthos' hands, though, after he's taken everything out of the trunk.

 

“I don't need help, either,” is her rather cold explanation and Aramis' eyes open wide, baffled that he is by her attitude.

 

Porthos stares at her hard on her way up the stairs, annoyed beyond understanding. He's hungry. He has a headache. He needs a shower. He's out of it in the kitchen, rubbing his temples, trying to focus on Athos who is discussing what they should do on the next day to celebrate his best friend's civil partnership. Because it's as close to a wedding as it'll get in their group. Probably the only ceremony of sorts to throw a party for. Porthos wishes he could be by himself instead. To order his thoughts, to try to make sense of what's happened to them -to him- in the car. Discussing wine is a decent distraction for a while, though.

 

Aramis goes upstairs first, wandering towards Anne's room, almost opposite theirs in the long corridor. There's no response to his quiet knock on the door yet no rebuttal once he opens it. Just because he doesn't want to get involved doesn't mean he can't make sure that Anne is all right.

 

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting on the edge of the bed where she's lying down, eyes set on the ceiling and the dancing shadows from the chandelier. Anne shifts and pillows her cheek on her hand to look at him. “Aren't you hungry?”

 

“I'm fine. Thank you.”

 

“Don't you want to come downstairs?”

 

“I'm fine, Aramis.”

 

He touches her hair lightly, dipping his fingers in the blond curls. Anne closes her eyes and sighs at the kiss on her forehead.

 

“I'm upset,” she breathes out. Obviously. “I don't understand why he would....”

 

“I'm sorry, Anne, but no,” Aramis cuts her off rapidly. “I love you, I love you both and I want you to talk it through together, but I don't want to be stuck in the middle. He's my boyfriend, too. And you're not just my friend anymore.”

 

Anne sits up, shoulders heaving. She picks at the massive comforter. There's a curtain of beautiful hair hiding half of her face. Aramis is right and it's tricky. It's complicated. So many intricacies to navigate in their growing relationship. Some she would have never imagined because she's hardly ever seen Porthos be any less than caring and easy-going.

 

She shivers at Aramis' nail grazing her skin when he puts her hair behind her ear so he can smile at her. He's dying to understand, too, and to make them both feel better yet he won't be a messenger. He won't be a referee. This isn't a boxing fight.

 

“Talk to Porthos and sort it out. All right?”

 

Anne nods, enjoying the longer, firmer kiss on her cheek, and the way he squeezes her hand.

 

“I love you, Anne. And Tréville sent a text to say that Mati was finally asleep,” he adds and at last, her eyes do light up.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Aramis catches a glimpse of her biting on her nails when he closes the door again. Loudly in the silent corridor and he shivers. The door to his bedroom is open and so are the French windows leading to the balcony. Porthos is standing outside, gripping the railing. Knuckles so tense that Aramis rubs them for a long time until they eventually and very slowly relax.

 

He presses his head to Porthos' shoulder, providing comfort wherever and however he can.

 

“That was some way to start a nice holiday,” Porthos mutters, looking at the pitch-black sky and the random stars the girls were admiring before.

 

“You should go talk to her.”

 

“Why? I haven't done anything wrong. I'm not apologizing. She's the one who kept assuming stuff. How could she...”

 

“Porthos, sweetie. Go talk to her, even if you think it's not your fault.” Aramis feels like he's repeating himself tonight. He doesn't care who was right or wrong in their fight. He wants it resolved. “She's not feeling well either and I don't want you to spend a wretched night because you refuse to explain yourselves. I want to have my boyfriend _and_ my girlfriend, happy with me.”

 

Porthos shrugs him off, runs a hand over his face. He shakes his head. Aramis is right. He won't be able to sleep if the latest memory he has of Anne is her screaming. She was miles away from the person he's gotten to know better. He doesn't understand.

 

“She's not a perfect princess who never loses her temper, you know,” Aramis insists, giving his boyfriend a hug. “Granted, I've hardly ever seen her like this, but she's a human being like you and me. And she cares about you. She _loves_ you. I can just feel it.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I love you, too. Even when you wake me up from delicious dreams.”

 

Porthos snorts, the sound surprising him. He's been too caught up in his emotions, shaken by them to enjoy himself this evening. It sucks and it has to change. It's been almost an hour since they arrived. Long enough for him to have calmed down a notch. To still be confused by the whole scene in the car. And he's put on clean clothes, dry ones and it's improved his mood a great deal.

 

Anne is also stepping out in the hallway, embarassed or tired or unsure how to proceed. A perfect reflection of what Porthos feels inside.

 

“'Mis thinks we should talk. Calmly.”

 

“He said the same thing to me.”

 

“Well, then...”

 

Porthos fidgets on his feet, unwilling to apologize first. He didn't start anything. He doesn't think so. She's the one who ruined the mood by knocking the bottle of water on his lap.

 

He flaps his arms by his sides, lost. There are footsteps coming up the stairs, startling Anne out of her own hesitation.

 

“Come on,” she decides, going straight to sit cross-legged on her bed. There's a random teddy bear in the bedroom that she clutches to her chest. “I'm sorry for your clothes,” she starts. To her surprise, Porthos shrugs.

 

“They're just clothes. They'll dry.”

 

“And the car?”

 

“It'll be okay. It was just water.”

 

“Good. What....what did I do then? Why did you....yell at me like that?”

 

Her voice is so tiny, so insecure, so apprehensive that Porthos couldn't stay mad at her for too long. He's already softening a bit.

 

“I did yell, didn't I?” He can concede that much. He rubs the back of his neck. That wasn't a normal conversation they had on the way to the country.

 

“I did, too.” Anne is glad that at least now, he isn't upset by her accusing him of shouting. “I don't understand, Porthos.”

 

“I don't like being told what to do. That's all. Or seeing that people don't trust me.”

 

“But I do. Trust you, Porthos. With all of my heart. Come here.” She pats the empty space beside her, because he's so tall standing there, clueless about what to do with himself. The bed creaks under his weight. “It was only a reflex, instinct if you like. At the red light. Anybody would have done it.”

 

“....Maybe.”

 

“Are you....are you always going to explode like this if something as insignificant or....small as spilled water or reflexes happen? Because I don't....I wouldn't like that.”

 

Her eyes are resolutely down, her voice breaking as she states what is bothering her. She doesn't want to look at him. She's upset and afraid of the answer. Porthos isn't quite so short-tempered, be it with Aramis or even with Mati. What is different with her then? Why did he behave like this all of a sudden?

 

Anne wants the Porthos who cuddles and laughs. The one who kisses her, who makes jokes and reassures her. The one who pushes her limits because he likes her. Very much. Because he knows she wants it.

 

“I had a long day?” he tries to explain. “The traffic was hell? It could have happened to anybody.”

 

“.....Perhaps.”

 

“And I'm only human, Anne. I most certainly said things I didn't mean and I'm sorry if I upset you.” What's the point denying that he isn't in the least guilty? It takes two people to argue. Porthos doesn't enjoy telling her this but he does nonetheless. “But I....I....you said something, too.”

 

“What was it?”

 

“It's....stupid. But I freaked out and I couldn't think clearly and somehow, it was easier to focus on what you were doing wrong than on what you said.”

 

He's an idiot. It's all his fault, he suddenly realizes. Hearing the words come out of his mouth, voicing what's at the root of his current issue.

 

“What _did_ I say?”

 

“That you started taking the pill again?”

 

Porthos feels ridiculous for his crazy reaction now. For everything that it triggered afterwards. For the petty fight and for shouting at her with no apparent reason. She may have started the entire situation, Porthos is slowly coming to terms with his own foolish contribution.

 

“What if I did?” Anne is puzzled, cocking her head. It's Porthos' turn to be entirely captivated by his lap, by the black string at the hem of his tee-shirt. “Isn't it a good thing? You know, for later? For when...we want to....have sex?”

 

“I can see that now, yes. And we probably should have talked about it before. It's my....our fault, as well. But I....thought you were pregnant,” he mumbles sounding like the most gullible person in the world. Anne draws back, not expecting this.

 

“Pregnant? How would I be pregnant? We haven't....”

 

“I know, I know. It was fucking stupid of me. It still scared the crap out of me. Because I love Mati and I'm okay having him in my life, I'm quite proud of it actually. It's taken me so long to get there, though, to the point when I'm good actually talking about adopting him. But sometimes, I take a step back, I look at how awesome things are most of the time, between all of us, and it's so complicated as it it. Aramis and you and your son and....I'm entirely not sure that I could handle more.”

 

“Oh, Porthos.” Anne reaches out, squeezing warm fingers and then going for a full-on hug.

 

He's strong in her arms, hugging her back because now, they must be good, too. He's shaking a bit, never comfortable sharing his worries over feelings and his insecurities. Where is Aramis when he needs him? Doing exactly what a perfectly sensible boyfriend would do: taking a step back. And Porthos is aware of it. Aware that he has to deepen his own relationship with Anne, too. On their own. That she is more than what first drew him to her. That she's a complex albeit terrific person. That they need moments alone to work things out, the two of them.

 

“Mati is my angel,” Anne says in his neck. “I love him with all of my being but he's enough. You and Aramis are a miracle. One I've yet to fully realize is truly happening. That you're here and I could kiss you if I wanted to.”

 

Porthos makes good on this, finding her lips to kiss them. Quickly. Looking straight in her eyes. Foreheads still touching when they're done. Noses grazing and Anne's hand curling on the nape of his neck. She sighs at the sweetness, closes her eyes. Tries to form coherent thoughts to make sense of the situation.

 

“I'd resigned myself to being a single mother for long, long years.”

 

“You're not even 30 yet, Anne.”

 

“And I met you and the rest is history. It's impossible not to fall in love with you. You sucked me in, from that first weekend I moved to Paris and you showed up with so many pastries and fruit juices because you didn't know what I'd prefer. You're amazing, Porthos. You make me love Aramis more, too. The way you are together. So in sync, so meant to be and I love you for letting me in. For making me feel comfortable. Not for shouting at me but I'm not innocent on the matter either. I was so.....startled. How is it called? The honeymoon phase? I was so afraid it was over. That is was all over. I snapped. But couples fight, don't they? I remember arguing with Louis all the time. I thought it meant that we weren't meant to be together. But I do want to be with you. And with Aramis. Together.”

 

Porthos goes back for a second kiss, much longer this time. Both of his hands cradling her face until he leans forward so much against her that Anne loses her balance and softly lands on her back. It doesn't break their kiss. If anything, Anne draws him more into it.

 

“I wouldn't go making babies behind your back, Porthos,” she stresses when they take a break. Her cheeks are flushed, his breath is hot on her face and she wants more. So, so much more.

 

“I'm aware. But accidents happen.”

 

“When you do make love to someone.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

Porthos rubs his nose against the comforter, liking the hand petting his hair. Anne squirms beneath him, wanting to get comfortable yet she very softly whines when he lies next to her. One arm thrown over her stomach yet his full weight gone from on top of her. She liked that.

 

“I'm sorry I scared you.”

 

“I'm sorry I reacted like an ass.”

 

“I shouldn't have told you. I thought I shouldn't at first. I shouldn't....”

 

“No! These are important things. Thank you for telling me.”

 

Porthos sees more clearly now. He understands better. Away from the heat and the shock of the moment in the car. It makes sense that she would tell him. He turns on his side so he can gather her in his arms. Their faces are so close, when he speaks, his lips brush her nose.

 

“I like you, too, Anne. A whole bunch.”

 

She breathes in the faint hint of shower gel in his neck, feels the goosebumps under her lips. One kiss, two short kisses. Porthos' nose against her forehead, nuzzling. Hot air washes down on her every time he takes a breath. Fingers play with random locks of blond hair. His mouth is wet and so readily available when Anne raises her head to give him more kisses. She tastes of toothpaste and Porthos loves it. He also loves how her eyes stay open the whole time. She never breaks eye-contact, barely blinking.

 

How could his anger and insecurity make him think that she didn't trust him? They're all taking that plunge together. No one in the world trust others like the three of them trust one another. And fighting means that it's real. That it's not some sort of splendid and unrealistic fairytale. That it takes work but Porthos is surrended by people who love him so dearly, who want the same thing as he does.

 

It'll be all right.

 

“What I meant,” Anne tries to explain, “is that I've thought of it on the practical aspect of being with you, in bed...”

 

“Which is more than I did. 'Mis bought condoms but I've been useless and that's not good.”

 

“Well, there hasn't been any tragedy so far so we're fine.”

 

“Yeah. Please, go on. Sorry I interrupted.” Porthos gives her another kiss to apologize. Anne giggles. Most spectacular sound in the world.

 

“I suppose, one day, maybe, years from now, if we're still together...”

 

“I want us to be. Shit. Sorry.”

 

Anne giggles more and she's the one pressing her lips to his and opening her mouth for him.

 

“....we can talk about babies. If we want. Why would I want that now? I've Mati and it's enough for the time being. Perhaps it's enough for good. I've also got you and Aramis and it's making me happier than I've been in....forever maybe.”

 

“Quite flattering.”

 

“It's true.” Anne burrows deeper in their snuggle and she can feel the smooth rhythm of Porthos' heart under her cheek. This is the calm after the storm and she's perfectly content with it. “I love you. And it's okay if you don't say it back,” she adds quickly. Porthos kisses the top of her head. Anne can't see his smile.

 

“Never, ever in my life would I have imagined I could feel so strongly and for two persons at once, no less. You better me. Not like Aramis does, because you're not identical, but you do nonetheless. In your own terms. You're my girlfriend.”

 

Anne's toes curl with delight. She hums happily on his tee-shirt. She doesn't want to move for the rest of the night.

 

“Do you see my phone?”

 

“Yep. Do you need it?”

 

“Can you text Aramis? Tell him to join us?”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

Porthos is all too happy to oblige the request even if, in the end, he calls instead because texting is proving difficult when he's unwilling to let go of Anne. They're still talking on the phone when Aramis opens and quickly shuts the bedroom door. Glad and relieved things seem to have been worked out between the two others. He'll have plenty of time to inquire about the cause of the drama later.

 

For now, Aramis sinks next to Porthos, finding his nightly spot under his boyfriend's arm. Anne is so close he could kiss her. Which he does. And it's bordering on perfection. Silent and warm and intimate and they fall asleep with the lights still on.

 

Porthos' arms solid and protective around Aramis and Anne.

Aramis' leg hooked up with his boyfriend's, hair tickling Porthos' chin before he drifts off.

Anne's hand on the hot naked flesh of Porthos' stomach, tee-shirt bunched up.

 

So hot in fact that Anne wakes up a bit dizzy from all the body warmth and the blanket which has been laid upon her. Not that she would require one. There are quiet whispers somewhere in the distance, soft pillows everywhere surrounding her but no one cuddling with her anymore. Opening her eyes isn't so much of an ordeal. Once in a while, sharing the same bad as her boyfriends till morning will do her good. When they've mollified her so greatly that she wouldn't mind neither snoring nor getting sweaty.

 

The sun is in her face and she rubs at her eyes fiercely. The men have stopped talking at the stirring, propped as they are against the headboard, Porthos' head on Aramis' shoulder.

 

“Good morning!” Aramis greets her in a chirpy voice. He feels it in his bones that the day will go without a glitch.

 

Porthos's smile is the first thing Anne notices when she perks up at the words. Shining, illuminating his face.

 

“Slept well?” he asks her.

 

Her answer is a lazy yawn and she forgets to put her hand in front of her mouth. It's adorable and her flustered expression makes them laugh out loud.

 

“I heard you're back on the pill,” Aramis mentions casually. Anne isn't awake enough to act surprised.

 

“I heard you bought condoms.”

 

“Always be prepared.” He winks and Porthos ruffles his hair now that he's straightened up. Moppy hair falls on Aramis' eyes and he blows on it. “For when you want, Anne. No pressure.”

 

“I know. You're extraordinary. The both of you.”

 

Aramis beams at the honest compliment. The sunshine on Anne's face makes it look like she's sitting on a white cloud, lost in all the pristine bed linens. She's so beautiful and she's in his bed. Well, hers technically. But they're together in it and that's what matters.

 

“Go brush your teeth. I want to kiss you,” he orders.

 

It makes Anne chuckle and yet she hastens to the bathroom to do as she's told. They remember everything about her, every single detail. What makes her uncomfortable. What she enjoys.

 

“I think I want to, soon,” she admits when she's back in bed, that Aramis' lips are sucking on her neck and that Porthos' fingers are brushing up and down her sides. Her skin tingle from the most fantastic morning kisses ever. She would totally be fine if it happened every morning for the rest of her life with them.

 

Porthos' mouth chases after hers at the confession, tugging at her lips, kissing her fully, sneaking his tongue between her teeth. Her hands lock around his neck and she shudders at Aramis' teeth grazing up to her ear. Her hair cascades down through his fingers.

 

“You tell us.”

 

Aramis lashes at her ear, biting on it a little. Just enough to test and hear her sigh out. She's pliant against him, surrendering to their attention, moaning too loud at Aramis catching Porthos' attention to give _him_ a kiss. Right there above her shoulder. Inches away. Porthos' beard scratches her naked skin whenever he moves, pulling her closer against him on his lap so he can also pull his boyfriend towards him.

 

Anne adores mornings like this. Long, lazy hours to do nothing but make each other feel good. When their problems are forgotten for a while. Dealt with. When they've closed the door on the outside world. When it's only the three of them creating something magical.

 

Up to the point when someone knocks -bangs- on the door and bursts the peaceful, hot bubble.

 

“I'm assuming you're all in there but don't open the door and traumatize me!”

 

“Go away, Flea,” Porthos speaks up. There's no point denying they are all in the room.

 

“Did you come all the way here to stay inside? Don't answer that. I don't want to know. We're going to the lake for a picnic. Get dressed.”

 

She bangs on the door again. Harder. Someone else giggles. Loudly.

 

“Picnic for breakfast?”

 

“It's 11 a.m., Porthos. You missed breakfast.”

 

“You can't see her but she's rolling her eyes!” Alice chimes in. Hence the giggling. “Hey! Don't hit me!”

 

Anne fumbles for her phone now that the mood's been broken. She can't be mad. The girls are hilarious and she's blessed she's been accepted so easily. At last. She may be a bit embarassed later when she'll face them, but if that's the only problem Anne has to deal with today, she doesn't mind.

 

“We're leaving in 20 minutes. Hurry up!”

 

“Go away,” Porthos tells his friends again.

 

“Go lock yourself up in the treehouse if you don't want any interruption!” Flea retorts. “Twenty minutes!”

 

One final loud bang and she stops assaulting the poor door. Porthos falls back on the bed with a huff and a groan.

 

“Everybody talks about that treehouse but I've yet to see it,” Anne says, stretching her arms high above her head. Her entire body feels alive and she'd love to be stuck somewhere with her boyfriends. Locked away. One day. One night.

 

Aramis hums in appreciation. He loves the treehouse. He's eager to make more awesome memories with Porthos and Anne there. One day. One night. Now that she's feeling more ready.

 

Porthos is frustrated, watching Aramis hop down from the bed and head out to their bedroom, to his suitcase and his own clothes. There are more giggles coming from the corridor, a stampede of sorts and his friends are clearly still teenagers. If he has to bring all of his significant others to the trrehouse to be safe from the girls' antics, he will. One day. One night. Soon, now.

 

Even though they have all the time in the world. The rest of their lives apparently.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Porthos and Anne lying alone and kissing on the bed was inspired by [this](http://willbyesr.tumblr.com/post/153984464256/everything-that-can-happen-will-happen-isnttarget=%22_blank%22) SKAM scene. 
> 
> This is the last chapter of this story but not of the series. I have at least 5 follow-up stories planned out already. I hope you liked this part of the characters' journey and I'll see you in the next story!!


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